Pied Piper, The
by gopha productions
Summary: One son must protect his family from a charlatan whose deception only he sees.


Chapter One: "A Stranger Cometh"  
  
The strong, beautiful stallion leaned his head down, mouth gently touching the water's surface. A bubble emerged, sending a series of small, perfectly round ripples across it. The water stilled. The beast repeated the motion, this time with a sense of urgency. It drank deeply of the cool water, then, rearing its head back whinnied loudly several times.  
  
His owner, seated nearby on a bed of leaves knew the call was to him. It was time again to ride. Travel was in this animal's blood, as it had been within its father, and the one before. These were noble creatures, and deserved to be part of far better and more peaceful purposes. This one certainly had once been destined for greater deeds than which it had now been procured.  
  
This fine beast's current master, a tall, dark haired man, who some would call handsome (some wouldn't), looked upon his prize with wonder. It had been won in a game of chance not a fortnight before. Unlike most animals of its caliber it did not fight the new master for freedom. The adjustment had been quick and painless, and now the horse was his companion, his friend, becoming almost a second brain for the man. They rode together; they ate together, and when times were lean, took rest together. They sensed each other's needs as if they had been together their entire lives. This was a superb animal.  
  
He patted its neck, receiving a nudge on the arm in return. Pulling a carrot from the pack slung loosely over his shoulder, he offered it to the horse, which took it gladly. This had been a long journey. The man ran a hand over his chin. He'd shaved his beard during the night of the last full moon, and it had begun to grow back in, rough like sandpaper. He would have a bath and a shave when they next stopped, he decided. That would be the cure-all for his many aches and pains. He tried to remember the last time he'd bathed. He determined it had been at least a month since soap last touched his skin. A horse doesn't care what a man smells like, and he was always careful to stay upwind of himself. Women on the other hand cared very much, and the rest of his plan for health included a comely lass. He did not know who she was yet, but was certain that after a bit of grooming one would present herself.  
  
He mounted the horse. Pushing the dark green hood back from his face, he kicked the horse twice in its flanks. It reared, and landing gracefully on its front hooves, started off at a great clip. The brush alongside the trail fell in his wake. This was a time for haste. The horse knew just as well as its master that the next village was at least half a day's ride. If they were to get there in time to find shelter and food at the local inn, they would have to hurry. Nightfall would be upon them soon, and the cold autumn winds with it.  
  
The storyteller paused, and looked one by one at his listeners, who sat rapt, in front of the warm fire. He purposely waited too long, and watched amusedly as they became impatient. He liked this part. The unrest they'd feel, wondering what would happen next. Would it be happy, sad, or maybe dangerous and bloody.  
  
"What happened then?" Eleanor Grey asked, from her place to his left. She was curled up into an almost impossibly small package, he noted.  
  
He took a long breath and continued. "Well, the brave knight mounted his horse, and rode off through the great wood, sword in hand. He was not the least bit afraid of what was to be found there. No not this man. This was the bravest, strongest knight in the King's service. Plus, he knew something that nobody else knew..."  
  
"...Yes, he knew that my brother has a great imagination."  
  
Armus Grey shot an angry glare at his brother Richard. The third son, he was under a mistaken impression that it was his job around the castle to ridicule his elder brother. He, on the other hand, wouldn't dignify the comment with a response. A part of him strongly considered reaching out and inflicting on Richard a blow he wouldn't soon forget. "Would you like me to finish the story or not?"  
  
"I would," said Cedric, the youngest, eyes wide. "I like this one. It's much better than that one you told last week about the cook that accidentally boiled poison oak and ate it. What did you say they called him after that? Sir Lumpy?"  
  
"That was you wasn't it, Armus? Come on, admit it." Eleanor brushed a long lock of red hair from her face. It fell right back into place. She absentmindedly wrapped the hair around her finger, and began twirling it.  
  
"I told you, it wasn't me. It was a knight I knew a long time ago. He was very young and inexperienced. And it was Sir Itchy they called him. It wasn't very nice either. He was quite a sensitive youth. It hurt his feelings many a time."  
  
It definitely did, Armus thought to himself.  
  
Richard curled his lips in mock disgust. "So what happened to old Sir Itchy? Did he make it home? What is he doing now?"  
  
"I have no idea. I didn't see him often after that." Armus cleared his throat, and played with the neck of his tunic, stretching it as if it had suddenly become too tight. "Did you want to hear the end of the story of the brave knight, or not?"  
  
"Yes, yes, go ahead."  
  
The light from the torches guided the way, as the man arrived in the village. He and the horse were exhausted. They'd made the last portion of their ride in a downpour. His cloaks were soaked through. The rain had stopped some time earlier but his thin clothes were little protection against the cool night air when dry, much less when full of water.  
  
He rode down the path into the heart of his new home. Many of the straw huts were dark, but in the windows of several he saw faces peering out at him. Mostly children, but not all. They all shared a look of great curiosity.  
  
He came upon an old man with a pig and a cart. "Excuse me sir. Can you tell me where about I am?" The old man did not reply. "Please sir, I've been riding a very long time, and I fear I've lost my bearings. Can you tell me what is the name of this village, and who is its Lord?"  
  
The old man appeared to ponder the question for a moment, while chewing on a piece of hay stuck in one side of his mouth. "I pegged you for a stranger right off, and I guess that I guess right. You must be if you don't know that this fine village is Kendal's Gate."  
  
"Kendal's Gate. A fine name for such a lovely place. But please, tell me who is your Lord?"  
  
The old man chewed the hay some more. The pig inexplicably became agitated, and he tended to it. When it had quieted down, he looked up and seemed surprised to see the stranger still waiting there.  
  
"Your Lord? Please sir. I can give you these silver pieces for your kindness and information." He removed a few coins from a purse attached to his belt, and held them out to the man, who snatched them away quickly.  
  
"Sir Thomas Grey is our Lord and Master. Sir Thomas Grey of Covington Cross."  
  
After purchasing the old man's trust with the coins, they'd shared a drink from the man's stores. The ale almost immediately loosened his lips. Details poured out like water from a spring. Sir Thomas Grey was considered a hero. He had several sons, one of whom was off in the King's service. He also had a young daughter, of marrying age, but not yet bound to a contract.  
  
He walked on. The aroma of hot food wafted under his nose. It smelled wonderful too. He dismounted, and led the horse on foot towards the source. As he expected, it was a cozy looking tavern. He hoped the inhabitants would be as inviting as their house.  
  
After feeding the horse the last carrot, and tying him to a nearby tree, he wandered inside. The heat from the hearth fire instantly warmed him. In the far corner, two men played a game of chess, while a third looked on. They argued amongst themselves in low voices. Nearby, a group of solders drank from large mugs of ale. Several looked as if they had been there for some time. He made a mental note to find a place on the other side of the room to eat supper. This was all very typical. A different village, in a different place, but one thing was always the same. The tavern. The inn. The people, old and young, gathered in these places to converse, play games of skill, or drink away their sorrows. He'd seen it many times before, and would see it more times after, so long as his luck held out.  
  
He peered around the rest of the room. The patronage appeared light, which was always beneficial. He found an empty, relatively clean table, and sat on a high stool, putting his weary feet up on the one opposite. From behind he heard whistles, and laughter. Over his shoulder were two young lads. They sat cross-legged on the hearth, warming the chill from their bodies. The barmaid, who wore a tattered dress, with a very low neckline, took their attention. Now that was exactly what he needed to get rid of the chill in his bones.  
  
His reverie was broken by a raspy voice. " 'Ello stranger. Wot you want? I bet you'd liken to sit oer there by the fire, you be all soaked thru like that. Got caught in the rain, eh? Wot you want? Got any gold? We got plenty food an' drink for you 'ere if'n you got the gold."  
  
The voice belonged to an overweight old hag. She spoke quickly. He strained to understand. Pausing for a breath, she showed a gap-tooth smile to him, and gazed into his eyes appreciatively. She was not what he had in mind for overnight company.  
  
"Thank you ma'am. I am hungry. It has been a long journey I've just completed. And I do have some gold that I would gladly give you to in exchange for some of your generous hospitality."  
  
The old lady cackled. "Oho, such grand talk from a stranger." She reached over uninvited, and pinched his cheek. "Where you come from, eh? No'ne talk like that 'round here. Such fancy clothing, too. All wet, ruined, I'd say. Come, I'll get you dry. We ave' rooms too, if you need to rest yer' head. And if you wan comp'ny..." She cackled again, and winked.  
  
He shuddered to think it. "My dearest lady, I appreciate your kindness, and I would like some dry clothes. But I would never think for a moment to impose on you in any other way. I am a gentleman, and I shall continue to act as one, even if I am more likely to be mistaken for a drowned rat."  
  
Obviously disappointed to be rebuffed, the woman turned, and silently motioning for him to follow, climbed a precarious looking set of stone steps. He followed.  
  
Chapter Two: "Follies"  
  
He'd had a good night's sleep. And that was unfortunately all he'd had. After a bath, a meal, and several stout ales, he'd done his best to woo the pretty barmaid. She made it quite clear at the start there was no interest. Meanwhile, the elderly woman, who had turned out to be the barmaid's mother, kept a close watch upon him. Being a smart gambler, he'd weighed those odds, and decided it better to cut his losses.  
  
Rising early to procure a satisfying meal for his steed, he'd then sat down to a wonderful breakfast of goose eggs, bacon, bread, and fresh goat milk. He now found himself almost bloated with good cheer. The urgency to travel felt the night before had all but gone. Resting comfortably by the hearth, the alluring scents of the old woman's cooking floating past, he thought he might never want to leave. Then, as several of the soldiers he had seen the night before entered, the old feelings of uneasiness came flooding back. He lifted his hood over his head, pulling it down low over his eyes.  
  
It was too late. The now sober soldiers noticed him immediately, and wandered over. The Captain peered down to get a look at his face. "You there. Do I know you?"  
  
He did not hesitate to answer, but spoke with a country accent. "No, Cap'n I don't think you do." He saw the Captain glance at his guards. It was obvious that answer was not acceptable, but in his experience, no matter what he'd said, the Captain wouldn't have liked it. He was looking for a fight. He wasn't going to get it.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Some call me Purdy." That part was true.  
  
"Purdy? Purdy what?"  
  
"Only Purdy."  
  
"Well, Purdy," said the Captain, losing his patience, "Where are you from? You're not from around here. Not with those clothes. And I know everyone in this village. I don't know you."  
  
"I'm from just about ever'where, Captain, Sir. I travel mostly. I'm just here for a rest, and a meal. Then I'll be on my way."  
  
"Where're you going?"  
  
Purdy raised his hands in a gesture indicating he had no idea.  
  
"Aimless beggars. The King ought to get rid of the whole lot of them." He said aloud, to no one in particular. He turned his attention back to Purdy, and spoke slowly, so to avoid any communication problems. "You get your meal and then you get out of here. I don't want to see you hanging around here begging for silver pieces."  
  
"No Captain, sir." Purdy replied. "I'll be on my way just as soon as I think a while on where I want to go."  
  
"Just see that you do." The Captain turned to his guardsmen, and herded them to a table on the other side of the room.  
  
Purdy watched them go, keeping his head low. After an appropriate time passed, he rose and casually left the tavern. The mid-morning air was crisp, and had that odd clean feeling that always came after a storm. He loved this time of day. It reaffirmed his hard and fast ideal that anything was possible. That of course, dependent on whether or not you had the brainpower to make that something happen. Purdy hadn't ever had issue with that.  
  
The homes that had been dark and silent the night before at his arrival were now bustling with activity. He spoke with a washerwoman, and when they were both satisfied with the price, Purdy handed over his cloak, shirt, and vest to her for a good scrubbing. As she worked, Gladdie (as she was called) whistled a song familiar to Purdy, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He made the inquiry of her, but Gladdie confessed she didn't either. But wasn't it a nice happy song in any case? He agreed that yes it was, and stretched out on the long grass. He closed his eyes.  
  
Crown, his horse whinnied. Purdy opened his eyes. The sky had grown dark and foreboding. The washerwoman was gone, having left his clothes folded neatly on the ground nearby. Purdy had no idea how long he'd been asleep. He threw on his shirt and vest, and ran to where Crown had been tied. He found the horse in a state of panic, surrounded by several guardsmen. He recognized one of them. The man was standing at a safe distance, barking out orders.  
  
Damn, Purdy thought. That sorry excuse for a guard Captain again. I'll just have to take care of this the hard way then.  
  
Purdy drew his sword, and approached, holding the weapon behind him. "That's my horse. You have no business with him. Get back before he crushes you into a fine powder."  
  
The Captain turned, and seeing that it was Purdy, drew his sword. He had to scream to be heard over the din. "I thought I warned you to get out of here! You're under arrest! In the name of the King, put down your weapon!"  
  
Purdy shook his head.  
  
The Captain repeated his request for Purdy to un-arm himself. Blood rushed into his face as he screamed orders between Purdy and his men, who were still trying to corral Crown.  
  
Purdy heard the sound of hooves behind him. He didn't know how many but guessed there to be at least a score, and he didn't think they were friendly. He extended his sword towards the Captain, and advanced.  
  
"So there he was, in this strange place, alone, and unawares of how he'd come to be in such a lousy predicament. The knight, not yet ready to lie down and die, pulled himself up by his bootstraps. Foraging for berries, and dry kindling, he set to making a fire. When he had a good blaze going, he ate the berries, and used some rainwater to wash them down. He slept by the fire all that night, and in the morning set out on foot to find his way to the nearest village. It didn't take him too long to come to a fork in the road...."  
  
Richard threw his hands in the air. He was fed up. Of all the cock and bull stories he'd ever heard in his life, this one was the worst. "You're trying to tell me, that this knight was a real person, and you knew him. He fought, and won, a battle all by himself against a band of twenty to thirty armed men, and was able to just get up and walk away? With not a single a scratch on him?"  
  
"That is exactly what I am telling you. The real man behind this tale is Sir Rupert Botkesham of Colchester, the son of Herman Botkesham who was, incidentally, the shire Alderman, and was said to have had the ear of the King. Rupert had a great love of the broadsword. Spent his youth learning how to wield it. When he went off to war, he became a great hero. There were tales of his exploits shared around many a wartime campfire. He is a great man."  
  
"And you know him."  
  
"Well, I know of him. I might have shared an ale with one of his comrades once," Armus replied, sheepishly. He thought for a moment. "There was a man that knight and I met on our way home, just a few days travel away. He knew of this story as well. He asked if I knew Sir Rupert, when I told him where I hail from."  
  
"So you didn't know him," Richard frowned. "And so what you're saying is that these are just stories."  
  
"Entertaining stories. Which is the point. But he is real. He does exist."  
  
"Prove it."  
  
Eleanor rose and stretched. "I think he's got you there, Armus. But it was a good tale, and I'm glad you're here to tell it." She leaned down, kissing her brother lightly on the cheek. "I'm going to get something to eat."  
  
Cedric jumped up immediately at the mention of food. "I'll come with you. As much as I'd enjoy watching these two tear each other to pieces, I feel it would be in my best interest to get out of the way."  
  
Armus waited for them to leave, and directed his attention back to Richard. "Your problem brother is that you have no sense of adventure. Let your imagination run away with you for a little while. Stories, even the true ones, must be savored. Enjoyed, and repeated, time and time again."  
  
Besides, Armus thought to himself, what else was there to do during the endless cold and stormy nights they were subjected to every year at this same time. Even chess became repetitive after a few games, when you always played the same opponent. Richard was the only member of the family that truly enjoyed the game as he did. There was Roger, the stable hand, but he played all too well. "I'll tell you what else," he continued. "If during each telling, the tale changes...becomes wilder...more entertaining...all the better."  
  
It might have been a piece of fiction, but the next morning at breakfast, the Grey children were still discussing it. Which meant a job well done to Armus.  
  
Cedric definitely agreed. He took after his mother, or so he was told. There was nothing better than a good story to pass the time. Unless of course there was a pretty girl around, and then the tale could wait a little while. "I thought it was a great tale, real or fabricated," he said, slathering butter on a thick slice of bread. "It had a solid plot, good adventures, and best of all...beautiful women."  
  
"It was such a good story you fell asleep in the middle of it." Richard laughed. He passed on the opportunity to mention the fact that the same mouth Cedric was now stuffing with bread had been at the time hanging open, a stream of drool flowing from it.  
  
"I was tired," responded Cedric, with a wink of an eye. "I was up late just the night before, entertaining a lovely lass of my own." He took a large bite of the buttered bread, leaving behind a generous dab of it stuck to his chin.  
  
"You're a pig." Richard tossed a rag to him, pointing to the butter on his chin. He shook his head. "If it was made up, then he should have said so in the first place. Why lead us to believe that it really happened when it didn't?"  
  
"I don't know that it isn't real, Richard, and that is the point. If I had told you it was made up, you wouldn't have been nearly as interested as you were when you thought it was real. And why is it that you are so caught up in whether or not it is? The world is not black and white. There are the gray areas, the in-betweens. Just because you cannot see or touch something, doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."  
  
"Right," said Eleanor, who had been watching the exchange in amusement. "You've never been to France, but you've been told it exists, and you believe it, even if you haven't seen it with your own two eyes."  
  
"That's different," insisted Richard. Stories and plays were for women. He could understand if Eleanor got caught up in them. Cedric of course was young, and had yet to see much of the real world. On the other hand, he'd seen enough of what was real to know the difference between fiction and reality. Thinking back a moment, he couldn't recall the last time a story truly fascinated him. No, that was a lie. There was one person who could truly take him into a world of fantasy. That was their mother, Anne. She could have said that people could fly in the air like birds, and he'd have believed her. "We've met the French. They're real."  
  
Eleanor saw in this statement a challenge. Richard was fairly intelligent as boys went, and liked to remind her of it as often as possible. She was just as smart, and often took up the cause of knocking him down a notch or two. "And if a Frenchman came to your house and said that waterfalls in France ran blue, and the sky was green over his castle, would you believe it?"  
  
"Of course not. That's ridiculous."  
  
"Why not? How do you know for sure? You haven't seen it."  
  
Armus decided it was time to put a stop to this before it turned to an argument and grabbed the attention of their father. He clapped a hand on Richard's shoulder, and squeezed it hard. "Let him be. The poor devil was cursed at birth with no imagination."  
  
"I have plenty of imagination. I just don't let it get the best of my better judgment." Richard brushed the hand from his shoulder. Looking from one smiling face to another, he decided they were the cursed ones. Cursed to live as silly dreamers, the miserable lot of them.  
  
"I've heard that story," said Sir Thomas, dipping his quill into the inkwell, and signing his name to the letter of intent, bound for the Duke Of Gippeswyc. "Whether or not there in an ounce of truth to it, I don't know. There may be a knight with that name, and possibly he existed before we were even born. And he could very well have come to Covington Cross. We don't meet everyone who comes through these lands. Over the years the tales have passed down from generation to generation, and are what you hear today. You know that as well as I do Richard." He sealed the letter with wax, and pressed the silver seal into it, creating an embossed replica of the Covington Cross crest. Out of habit more than of use, he blew on the wax to cool it. "You also know that your brother Armus takes great pleasure in relating these tales to you, Cedric and Eleanor. Why not let him have that little bit of pleasure?"  
  
"I'm not trying to take anything away from him father," replied Richard. "I just feel like a rat being led down to the water by a slick tongued Pied Piper."  
  
"You, son, would never let that happen." Sir Thomas rose, and through a slight bit of physical protest successfully embraced his son. "I depend on you, you know that Richard. But I don't want you to take that responsibility too seriously. I know when William went off to war quite a bit was placed on your shoulders as the eldest remaining child. But Armus is back now. By right, he is to take that burden. And he is quite capable of doing so."  
  
"Yes, I know father." Richard found he couldn't say much more. All of the Grey children had their place in the order of things. Armus, the oldest was father's right hand, he would inherit the castle and the lands at father's passing. William, he was the second son, and off to war. When at home, he'd been the confidant of Armus, since they were the closest in age. He would most likely stay on, and help Armus, if he returned from the fighting.  
  
Eleanor, the only girl, had her own unchangeable destiny. To be married off, no matter how much she detested the idea. She might find love one day, but even then her husband would whisk her away to his home...to have babies. Cedric, he'd been destined for the church. That idea had been stamped out, and Cedric went through his days aimlessly. He was young enough still that it didn't matter. He would eventually marry and make a home for himself. As the third son, Richard felt he had no niche. When both William and Armus had gone to war his presence had become essential. True, he had felt weighted down for some time with the responsibility, but he'd come to expect and even, in some ways, relish it. As the third son, he'd not often gotten to spend time with his father, certainly not on important matters. The first time his father had taken him into a confidence, he'd felt...well, it was all very silly, and a moot point now. Armus had returned.  
  
Thomas watched, as several emotions seemed to pass his son's young face in the short span of a moment. He thought maybe Richard had something else to say, but he stayed silent. Thomas knew Richard was having somewhat of a difficulty adjusting to the homecoming of Armus, but he was going to have to accept it in his own time. Forcing the matter wasn't going to help.  
  
Chapter Three: "The Rivalry"  
  
The clashing of swords could be heard from the South barn all the way to the East meadow, and everywhere in between. The two men fought hard, lunging and slicing through the air at each other. The sky had grown cloudy, and a fog was rolling in. A light mist fell upon them. A small group watched from a distance which would be safe, yet afford them the best vantage point.  
  
The fight raged on, and it became obvious that the men were growing tired. The swords became heavy in their hands. The taller of the two crouched, and pushed all of his weight into the other forcing him off balance. The smaller man tripped on a rock and fell to the ground. He lost his sword in the tall grass. The other man stood over him, sword poised at his opponent's throat.  
  
"Yield."  
  
"Never."  
  
In a brave, if not perilous move, the smaller of the two, still on his back, kicked up with his feet between the other's legs. He too fell, and was relieved of his weapon. They struggled then in hand to hand combat, as the skies opened up upon them. The onlookers ran for cover.  
  
The two men's fight came to an abrupt halt. The smaller man, who was at that moment in control of the battle, spoke first. "Not again!"  
  
"You can't let a little bit of rain stop you. Come on, let me finish giving you your thrashing."  
  
"Who's winning? Me. You are the one with his back to the ground."  
  
"I'm letting you win," replied Armus, flipping over onto his side, and tossing Richard a foot to his left. Richard landed hard, and got the wind knocked out of him. He tried unsuccessfully to speak.  
  
"Give up yet, brother?"  
  
Richard gasped for breath, shaking away the hand held out to him. He rose slowly from the ground, and headed back towards the castle, leaving his sword behind.  
  
Armus rubbed his right arm. He's getting stronger, he thought, and collected both swords before following his brother.  
  
"Beat you again did he?" asked Cedric, knowing full well the answer, considering the current demeanor of each of his brothers.  
  
"I held my own."  
  
"Yes, I will have to admit that he did. But he'll never beat me. And it's not because I'm bigger or stronger." He tapped a temple. "It's because I know how to think myself through a good battle."  
  
Richard rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for one of Armus' lectures. It was too late though. He was already in full swing. What could he do to distract him? Of course! A story.  
  
Armus was still talking. ".You have to anticipate your opponents every move."  
  
"And did the brave Sir Rupert anticipate the every move of his opponents?"  
  
A light shone in Armus' eyes. "Well brother, I would think that he did."  
  
This was not going to be as easy a task as Purdy once thought. The Captain and his men had been nary a threat, with their inept fighting skills and lack of organization. Still his strength had been sapped, and Crown was still acting nervously.  
  
It was time to seek new shelter. The constable would be making inquiries come first light. It was time to leave this land, at least for the time being.  
  
He rode on, till he reached what a land marker. The crest was unfamiliar to him. Glancing around he decided that this place, with its winding trails, and thick wood would do just fine.  
  
He rode off the trail, and after half a mile found a suitable clearing. He released Crown to forage. He started a fire, and heated the leftover meat from the pheasant that he'd shot just before dusk.  
  
"Blagosloviti nama pa dr?ati nama izvor unutra ovih puta," the Friar concluded his prayer session, in the usual manner. He always said and extra blessing for Sir Thomas and his family, paying special attention to son William who was off in service to the King. Today he also spent a moment for Richard, who was slated to leave that very morning on an errand for his father.  
  
A letter was to be delivered to the Duke Of Gippeswyc, and Sir Thomas had given the task to Richard in an effort to split him, for a time, from the company of Armus. Sir Thomas had taken the Friar into confidence, and related that he was at the end of his patience. Passions were running high, and the bickering had become unbearable. Did he have any advice on how to solve the problem? The only suggestion that had come to the Friar's mind under the pressure of the moment was to send one of the brothers on an errand. Sir Thomas thought this a wonderful idea, and after offering profuse gratitude, had gone off to his chambers to devise such a task. The trip was not completely a ruse, as a letter was expected in Gippeswyc, but any man with a horse and a day or two worth of time to ride could have delivered it.  
  
As usual devising the duty had been the simple part. When Sir Thomas had brought it to Richard, he found him engaged in a rather heated game of chess with Armus.  
  
"That wasn't fair. You didn't give me enough time to make my move."  
  
"I gave you as much time as you needed. When did I stop you?"  
  
"You didn't have to. I could barely concentrate with all that foot tapping." Richard replied.  
  
"What foot tapping?"  
  
"That, like you did just then.."  
  
Sir Thomas had interrupted them, but that too was difficult. "What has gotten into you two? You display such great hostility for so little reason. You will just have to do without each other's splendid company for a little while. Richard I am sending you to Gippeswyc to deliver this letter of intent to the Duke."  
  
"Me? Why me? Why can't Armus go?"  
  
"Because I chose you, Richard."  
  
"But I don't want to go." replied Richard, blankly.  
  
Sir Thomas ran a hand over his face. "We don't always get to pick and choose what we do or do not want to do in life. Pack your things, you are going."  
  
Armus, intent on being reasonable (and to spite Richard), offered to make the trip.  
  
"Thank you Armus. You are always here for me when I need you, but there are other things that I have planned for you over the course of the next few days."  
  
"No really father, I don't mind."  
  
"All right!" said Richard, rising. He grabbed the letter from Sir Thomas. "I'll take the stupid letter to Gippeswyc. I'll make the two-day trip there and the two-day trip back, and I'll probably get caught in the rain and catch my death of cold."  
  
Armus laughed.  
  
Sir Thomas sighed.  
  
The Friar heard the familiar bellowing of Sir Thomas from the courtyard. Crossing himself quickly, he gathered up a book, several papers, and hurried down the stairs and out to the courtyard.  
  
"Yes. Sir Thomas?" he asked, wheezing heavily. He reminded himself again to stop eating that second supper every night before bed. It was horrible for his constitution. Or maybe it was the wine.  
  
"Friar, my son Richard is about to leave on his errand, and I would like you to give him a good traveling blessing."  
  
"A traveling blessing, Sir Thomas?"  
  
"Yes Friar," Sir Thomas said impatiently. "Keep him safe, and warm, and return him home.et cetera, et cetera."  
  
"Oh yes, I know just the thing, Sir Thomas."  
  
Richard was on his horse, and ready to leave. "Can we get on with this?"  
  
"Yes.oh.yes," The Friar stammered. He improvised the best blessing he could under short notice. It didn't have anything to do with travel, but none of the Grey's spoke Latin, so it didn't really matter. What Sir Thomas didn't know wouldn't hurt him.  
  
"Well I'm off." Richard waved absently over his shoulder and rode through the gate.  
  
Sir Thomas yelled after him. "When you get there, deliver the note and come right back. No dawdling, do you hear me?"  
  
Chapter Four: "Mistaken Identity"  
  
It was true. Amazing. Richard could hardly believe his eyes, and his luck. The sun was actually out, shining and warm. It had truly seemed like they would never see a pleasant day again.  
  
He dismounted to take a rest, taking a seat by a stream. He purposely sat on the opposite side of an enormous oak tree, facing himself away from the water. It might have seemed odd to passerby (not that he expected there would be any) but just on the other side were lands that belonged to Baron John Mullins, the Grey's sworn enemy. The last thing that Richard needed on this day was an altercation with Mullins' men, much less with the sour old man himself.  
  
It's a good thing he doesn't have more than one daughter though, he thought. My luck, I'd have fallen in love with her just as Cedric did with Alexandra. Of course if she looked anything like her sister, I'd have been safe. He chuckled. Far be it from me to judge, but what did he see in that waif? Besides, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. No doubt she'd turn out as horrid and bitter as her father, or as evil as her dead brother.  
  
Richard felt a chill run up his back at the thought of Henry of Gault. Gault had come a few scant inches away from inflicting a terrible injury on their father, but Eleanor had taken his life with her crossbow. Poor Eleanor. As strong and independent as she acted, the whole incident had given her nightmares for months after. That period in their life was over, except for the occasional trouble with Mullins. His ridiculous revenge seeking was a menace to the family and their land. Up till now they'd successfully warded off any real harm (there was the lamb incident), but his affiliation with the Sheriff was a nuisance. But what could one do? As his father would have said, 'These are the times we live in. Times hard and damn unpleasant.'  
  
But there was nothing hard about resting under the tree, and basking in the sun. Nor would it have been very difficult to close his eyes and take a nap. But there was an errand to be done, and unless he was looking to deal with his father's wrath upon returning home, he was best off by getting to it.  
  
Richard gathered his things, mounted the horse and rode on. He felt much safer leaving the boundary to Mullins land at his back.  
  
What the boy didn't know was that he was being watched. Or it didn't appear so.  
  
He'd been lost in his thoughts for a time. That allowed the man to get as close as the shore on his side of the stream, out in the open, in plain view...without being seen. He thought about how he could have crept up on the boy and slit his throat if he'd wanted to. Taken the horse, his purse, and made a great day of it. But this was not the time. He ran back to his Baron's castle and reported the sighting.  
  
"He had lightish hair, Baron."  
  
"It was lightish then was it?"  
  
"Yes, Baron. As best I could see with my eyes as they are."  
  
"Was he tall?"  
  
"About as tallish as myself, I reckon, M'Lord. As best as I could see."  
  
"Hmmm." mused John Mullins aloud. "And what was young Richard Grey doing on my property?"  
  
Joshua Latham avoided looking directly at Mullins, as it tended to irritate him. "He wasn't on your property, Baron Mullins. He was on the other side of Brandywood Stream. Not far from River's Crossing. That is still part of Thomas Grey's lands, I reckon."  
  
Mullins frowned, and waved an impatient, perfectly manicured hand somewhere in the vicinity of Latham. "Yes, yes, fine. What was he doing?"  
  
"Sitting, Baron." replied Latham, staring down at his own dirty, broken nails.  
  
"Sitting?"  
  
"Yes, Baron. Just sitting, with his back to a tree. He 'ad a horse, it was laden heavily. Looked as if the boy was going to be gone for a time, I reckon." Latham scratched at an oozing sore on his left cheek. He drew blood.  
  
Mullins cringed visibly. "Latham, I do not pay you to think. I pay you to bring me information."  
  
"Yes, Baron Mullins, about my payment..."  
  
Mullins smiled coldly. "And what about it?"  
  
Latham shifted his gaze to the portrait of the King hanging to the left of the desk. "Well Baron, begging your pardon, M'Lord, but you haven't paid me for the last bit of talk that I brought to you, and I 'ave come to you with something on the Greys today. You did say that anything on the Greys was worth a few pennies..."  
  
"A boy sitting against a tree on his own property is not important. I won't pay good money for that. Leave me now. And next time before you come here and interrupt me, you'd better have something I can use."  
  
"Yes, Baron Mullins. Might I inquire about last time? You spoke of payment next time, and it is next time."  
  
Mullins sighed. "Oh here, you wretched fool." He went around to the far side of his desk, and unlocked a box with a key brought from under his tunic. It was cast in silver, and hung from his neck by a thick red length of twine. He took out a handful of coins, slowly counted out a generous amount, and dropped them back into the box. He took the two remaining copper pieces, and threw them across the room at Latham. They clattered to the floor, one at Latham's feet. The other rolled past on its side, and disappeared underneath a heavy wood rocking chair. Latham scrambled on his hands and knees, grasping under the chair to retrieve it.  
  
Mullins came around from the desk, walked up behind Latham and wearing a satisfied smirk, kicked the man in the rump.  
  
The chess piece did not move. Armus sat, chin on hand, elbow on knee and stared at it intently, almost as if he looked at it long enough, the piece would change squares by sheer will. It didn't. He'd been there in the study by the fire for over an hour, and it was still in the same spot. He picked up the queen listlessly, and ran his fingers over it. Wonderful craftsmanship, he thought, turning it upside down to read the name on the bottom. He placed the piece back into its rightful spot on the marble board. He sighed. It had only been a quarter of a day, and he already missed Richard. This was almost enough boredom to make him seek out the company of Cedric. Almost. But not quite.  
  
But wait, the sun had come out, hadn't it? This was a perfect day for a walk into the village. Of course! It was the perfect solution. Have a good walk, a good meal, a few ales, and maybe even find company with a few men of good humor...or one woman of good figure.  
  
He put on his sword, vest, and for good measure his favorite heavy green cape (just in case the weather turned bad).  
  
He met the Friar on his way out, who asked where he was going just in case Sir Thomas happened to inquire.  
  
"Lovely day for a walk, I agree, Armus. Would you mind some company?"  
  
"Not at all Friar," replied Armus with as much earnestness as he could muster. "A brisk twenty kilometer walk will do you good."  
  
"Twenty? Kilometers?"  
  
"Each way."  
  
"Yes...yes...that does sound wonderful, but I just recalled that I have to do something for Sir Thomas. Quite urgent."  
  
"That is a shame. Maybe next time?"  
  
"Yes...yes...please do think of me..."  
  
"I shall do just that Friar."  
  
It was near suppertime as Armus arrived in the village at Kendal's Gate. He leaned on the tree branch he had picked up along the way to use as a walking stick. It was clean and straight, and he was taking it back to the castle with him after dinner. He'd not had a chance to do any whittling since he'd come home, and could already envision the finished product. It would make a fine sturdy cane.  
  
Armus smelled the cooking of his favorite tavern keep, the old widow Fitch. He hurried on the rest of the way, stopping just long enough to wave to Jessup Harmon and his pig Sir Arthur.  
  
They were in their usual spots, Jessup on his tree stump, and Arthur in his cart. He'd no idea how old exactly Jessup was but he could remember seeing him there on the same stump as early as his own fifth year. This was the third Arthur...at least.  
  
The mood was light in the tavern that evening. He took off his cape, and carefully leaned his walking stick against the wall away from all the activity. He didn't want it to get broken.  
  
All the tables were filled so he went directly to seek out Amanda, old widow Fitch's daughter. She was in her usual place, serving drinks to the rowdy men with one hand, and slapping their faces (for grabbing her bottom) with the other.  
  
He rapped on the bar. Amanda looked up, and greeted Armus with a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Eh, why is he so special as to get your attentions?" asked a drunken villager that Armus didn't know. "Wha' about me then?"  
  
"You old rat catcher you, Mully Bendel," said Amanda, spitting on the floor in front of Bendel. "If you had all your teeth and half a lick of his sense I might."  
  
Bendel smiled, revealing a mouth full of gums. "Aye, f I were a young rich man agin'."  
  
Laughter rose from the group surrounding them. A man known only as Hatcher spoke. "When were ya ever rich, Mully? Come to think of it, when were ya ever young?" More laughter.  
  
Amanda ignored them. "So Armus Grey, have you come for suppah, or did you just want the comp'ny of these old sots?"  
  
"I've come for both," he leaned in close, conspiratorially, almost whispering. "I've had the worst appetite for your mother's scotch eggs."  
  
"You've got it. I'll have mum put 'em on."  
  
Armus leaned back and spoke to the fellows encircling them. "The next round is on me!"  
  
The men cheered.  
  
Some time had passed, Armus had finished his supper, and had just bought a third round of ales. He was just about out of money as well. It would soon be time to take his leave of these people.  
  
He stood to go out and relieve himself. The air had grown chilly, so he grabbed his cape, throwing it on carelessly. The ale had done its work, and Armus found that his feet were not working as he wanted them to. Such luck to have his walking stick with him, he thought, collecting it on his way out the door.  
  
The wind whipped the hood of his cloak up onto his head. It covered his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Armus stumbled around in the dark. The walking stick in his left hand collided with an unknown object.  
  
Armus heard a grunt, and then a voice out of the darkness. "Hey, watch where you're going...You! I thought we took care of you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come back for more eh? You injured ten of my men you bastard. If I had my way your neck would be stretching from King's gallows now." The man drew his sword.  
  
Armus could not see his movement, but he heard it. He tried to reach for his sword, but the hilt was caught in the folds of his cape. Trying desperately to gain his footing, he held out the only defense he had at hand.  
  
The walking stick.  
  
Chapter Five: "All's Fair"  
  
"I've got you now! Give it up. You've got no place to go. Surrender!"  
  
"I'd rather die."  
  
"That can be arranged little brother." Eleanor lunged at Cedric, grabbing for the sheath of arrows. They belonged to her, and damned if she was going to let Cedric waste them on one of his hunting trips. He never caught anything. They chased each other in a circle around the table in the great hall.  
  
"Am I going to have to separate you two as well?" bellowed Sir Thomas.  
  
He listened to the chorus of apologies, took the sheath of arrows, found out who they belonged to, and then split the amount in half. He quelled the wall of protest by promising Eleanor that he would make sure to fetch more later on.  
  
With that issue taken care of he retired to his chambers to finish his business.  
  
"That is so unfair," said Eleanor, visibly pouting. "If the arrows were yours he'd have given them all back to you and told me to go play with my dolls."  
  
"Yes he would have, wouldn't he?" Cedric realized it was unfair, but that was the way things went. She was a girl after all, and just the fact that she'd been allowed to learn to shoot at all was a miracle. He was a boy, and he'd been very nearly forced into a life of praying, history lessons and.celibacy. That wasn't right. "But he didn't. You have some I have some, and all is right with the world. Come on let's go practice."  
  
Eleanor hesitated for a moment, but relented with a smile. For all their fighting she did love Cedric.even if he was an idiot sometimes.  
  
"Defend yourself, sir!" The Captain spat out the words. "You shan't get away this time. After I teach you a lesson or two, you're off to the Sheriff's dungeon." He attacked.  
  
"I.think.you've.mistaken me.for someone else." puffed Armus, dodging the Captain's sword. Using the walking stick he warded off a series of all too close blows. He faked to the left, and thumped the Captain in the back, knocking the wind out of him. He threw a lower blow to the back of the Captain's knees, forcing him onto the ground.  
  
Armus threw back the hood from his eyes.  
  
The Captain, in pain and out of breath gazed up, the hatred burning in his eyes. It was quickly replaced by a look of surprise, which then changed to fear.  
  
"Oh.my.p-p-p-lease forgive me, M'Lord Grey. Oh M'Lord, please. I beg of you. I thought you were the rogue who came through these parts just a day ago and wreaked havoc. He injured several of my men. Oh my Lordship, do forgive me."  
  
"Calm down Renfrow," replied Armus. He examined the now pitted and splintered walking stick, then tossed it to the ground in disgust.  
  
Captain Renfrow sat whimpering at his feet.  
  
"Oh get up, Renfrow, please." Armus reached down and helped the Captain to his feet. The Captain kissed his hand, and apologized again.  
  
Night had fallen. It could be understandable if Renfrow mistook him for someone else. He told the man it was all right, but that he should make it a habit of using good sense and reasoning first, before resorting to violence. As he spoke, Armus knew the words fell on deaf ears. The man was a soldier, and that was what he would always be.  
  
"Yes, yes, you are so correct, M'Lord. I should have known it was you," he paused. "But it was that green cape, M'Lord. And with it over ye eyes, you looked just like him."  
  
"Armus what are you on about?" asked Sir Thomas.  
  
"There was a man, in a green cape, very much like this one, at Kendal's Gate a day or so ago, causing quite a ruckus. Tonight Captain Renfrow mistook me for this man, and just about ran me full of holes."  
  
"Who is this man?"  
  
"I don't know. Apparently he was passing through. Gave his name as Purdy. Just Purdy. Severely injured several if Renfrow's men. George Rawley has been permanently maimed. He'll never walk properly again."  
  
"I hope they catch him. You're not hurt are you?"  
  
"Just my pride, father. The Sheriff told me he heard rumors that this Purdy was spotted just to the other side of River's Crossing. "  
  
"That's part of Mullins' lands."  
  
"Yes I know. They're going to search the area tomorrow. He'll probably hang if they find him."  
  
With the slightest of movement, and nary a sound the stag nibbled at the mossy ground. Behind him, sitting in a makeshift blind, Purdy watched expectantly, bow and arrow poised. If the beast moved a few scant inches in any direction it would be out of the protection of the fir, and a perfect target. He waited it out, and within just ten minutes the stag moved to the next moss bed. Purdy took his shot, and had reloaded before the animal even hit the ground. That's supper for a week, thought Purdy, putting the bow aside.  
  
The stag was still alive, but suffering. Purdy leaned down, and taking its head between his hands, twisted it sharply, breaking its neck. He set to the task of skinning the beast, and cutting out the meat. By the time he finished it was nightfall, and time to eat. He threw the bones into the brush, and prepared his dinner.  
  
Purdy forced sleep that night, knowing full well he'd have to be on his way first thing in the morning.  
  
A buxom servant girl re-filled his glass with ale. Richard smiled and winked. She blushed. Turning to the Duke she curtsied and left the room. Richard's head swiveled around the side of his chair, to watch her leave. Duke Immensely chuckled appreciatively. The lustfulness of youth was one of many of life's pleasures that he'd lost after his marriage to third wife Cynthia, the current (and hopefully last) Duchess of Gippeswyc.  
  
A toast was made to freedom and the pursuit of happiness, love and all of the other finer things in life. Richard realized Duke Gippeswyc was several goblets of ale ahead of him, and that his faculties had become impaired.  
  
The Duchess looked on disapprovingly, yet stayed silent. Richard could see the remnant of what appeared to have been a blackened eye just above her left cheek. So much for freedom and happiness, thought Richard. He wondered if he'd been polite long enough to excuse himself and go home.  
  
"Well, Richard, I can see that you are the product of your father. Sir Thomas is a great man, and I very much look forward to our future business ventures." The statement was followed by a loud belch, which the Duke did nothing to disguise.  
  
"As does my father," replied Richard politely. "I trust the letter of intent was sufficient?"  
  
"It spoke volumes, my boy." Another belch, and a noise that Richard thought was the passing of gas.  
  
After escaping from the Duke and his wife, Richard set right out for home. In his pocket was nothing but fluff. He'd requested the expected contract to return to his father, but was unceremoniously refused. The Duke had stated he wanted to add a few 'minor' details and would send it on by messenger in a few days. He also commented how wonderful it was that Sir Thomas had sent a family member to deliver the letter of intent, as messengers could be so impersonal.  
  
If the trip had accomplished nothing else, it had reminded him that boredom was not just the product of having nothing to do; it was a state of mind. A room full of twenty acrobats could be boring if you'd seen all of their tricks before.  
  
It would take another full day and a half before he got back to Covington Cross. As long as the weather held, it wouldn't be such an unpleasant thing to be on the road. Using a few well selected shortcuts he might even be able to hack a few hours off.  
  
After questioning a good portion of the village, including Jessup Harmon (and nobody passed into Kendal's Gate without him knowing) Armus had no more information on the stranger than when he started. The man had not left a name other than 'Purdy', and it was likely this was a lie. There was no man named Purdy or even close to it within the shire or the other villages on his father's lands.  
  
The question lingering in their minds was, if the man supposedly seen on Mullins' land was this same Purdy, what was he doing there. And was he sent to Kendal's Gate by Mullins' If so, then why? Armus had found the subject difficult to let go, although his father had insisted they mind their own business. It was in the hands of the Sheriff and his guard now. They had nothing to say about the matter. Sir Thomas had looked him right in the eye and made absolutely sure he understood this, and demanded his solemn promise that he would keep out of it. Armus had agreed, of course, and intended to keep the promise, he really had. It was just that once night fell, he couldn't help but start to mull the situation over. He'd left in the morning with the intention of taking a short walk. He'd ended up in Kendal's Gate. It wasn't an intentional disregard of his father's orders. The question was, would father believe it when he found out, and it was inevitable that he would.  
  
Armus decided to put that aside, and concentrate on the matter at hand. He leaned against the cool stones of a dividing wall between the tavern, and the home of the tinker, his wife and their three daughters. Bernard had been one of the first people he'd spoken with seeing as how they were so close to the tavern, which was apparently where the initial trouble had taken place between Purdy and the Captain of the Guard. They'd not seen or heard anything, which Armus found very difficult to believe, but had to accept.  
  
This Purdy had in a short time become somewhat of a legend in the village. He'd apparently fought off the whole guard attachment single handedly. It reminded Armus of one of his stories. He couldn't blame the villagers for not wanting to talk. Their lives revolved around their small homes and their trades. If this man were as violent as it appeared, the fear of retribution would be more than enough motivation to keep them quiet.  
  
There was of course the Baron Mullins angle. If he was allied with Mullins, they could fear vengeance from him as well. Even though the village was under the protection of their Lord, Sir Thomas, there had been instances in the past where the lands were invaded, and homes burned to the ground. Whole families had been killed outright.  
  
Armus shook off those thoughts, and went to talk to Amanda. If anyone knew about this man, she would.  
  
"He came in 'ere, and had a meal. Some drinks. He even 'ad a bath. Asked about clean clothes. War'nt able to help him there. Mother sent him to Gladdie."  
  
"I talked to her. She said he was tall, handsome, and had a green cape."  
  
"That he wasn't, and that he did," said Amanda. "I don't know much else, Armus Grey. We get so many folk thru' here. If I'd known he'd do what he'd done, I'd 'ave watched closer."  
  
Chapter Six: "The Search"  
  
With thirty strong men on foot, and twenty others on horseback, the search party set out just after dawn.  
  
Among them, on horseback of course, was Baron Mullins himself. If this rogue had dared to use his lands to hide out, Mullins wanted to be there when this Purdy fellow was flushed out. There was a generous bounty on the fugitive's his head, and he wasn't about to let anyone else claim it.  
  
It had been three days since they started the search, and the Sheriff had removed his men, citing it very unlikely that Purdy was still in the area. Still, Mullins had a gut feeling, and had enlisted some of the local villagers to continue, by promising them each a slightly larger share of their next season's harvest. Purdy was still there he just knew it.  
  
They rode on. The men on foot searched the caves, and the low brush. Many of the footmen had scythes they waved in front of them, indiscriminately, to cut through the weeds. Mullins had informed them the man was wanted dead or alive. That wasn't what the Sheriff had said, of course. The horse riders checked the lower branches of the trees. No stone was left unturned. Still, the man known as Purdy eluded them.  
  
Mullins became more and more impatient as the day grew longer. He took out his frustration on Latham and Latham's young son. They flanked him on either side, and were instructed to keep an eye out for possible attack. As they came around a small outcropping of rocks, they saw several of the men gathered by a small pool.  
  
Mullins addressed the younger Latham without looking at him. "You! Go there and see what that commotion is all about."  
  
The boy looked confused, but with silent urging from his father, ran off towards the men. He came back a few moments later, breathless and flushed. "Father, thar was a fire. Out now. Thar was." Mullins didn't understand a word. "Latham, what did he say?"  
  
"Looks like there was a camp, M'Lord."  
  
"And?"  
  
"A fire, M'Lord, but it's out now. He must've gone."  
  
"Brilliant deduction, Latham. What else?"  
  
Latham stood silent, eyeing his boy, who could only shrug.  
  
"Do I have to do everything myself?" yelled Mullins, kicking the boy out of the way with his boot. Sure enough in a clearing were the remnants of a camp. There was a fire pit, some clothing, and a small pile of uneaten berries. To his great dismay there was also the remains of a full grown stag.  
  
"Damn!" Mullins turned his horse, and rode out another few feet into the woods. "Damn!" he said again, and called all of his men together.  
  
"Did you find any tracks? Hoof prints? Foot falls?"  
  
One of the men indicated that he had. Mullins inquired why they hadn't followed them, and got no response. He ordered several of the men to clean up the camp, and remove the carcass of the stag. "I'll follow the tracks myself. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. Latham come. Bring your son!"  
  
He was making good time. Richard estimated from the position of the sun that it was the early afternoon. The next shortcut was just up ahead. It would take him through an area where his father's lands directly met those of Baron Mullins. It was always a chance riding through there. He decided that it was worth it, if it meant getting home in time for supper.  
  
At the next fork in the road he bore right. The ride continued to be uneventful for another hour. As he neared River's Crossing, very close to the spot where he'd stopped several days before, something struck him as wrong. He could smell a fire burning. He was on Mullins' side of the river, and a fire was not something Mullins allowed in his forests. His curiosity getting the best of him, Richard dismounted to take a look. He noticed many horses had trampled the ground. Further investigation showed a great amount of the underbrush having been cut down. Something was definitely wrong. Against his own better judgment, Richard made his way through the path created through the underbrush towards the source of the fire.  
  
Gathered around the fire were approximately ten men. Richard recognized some of them as being in Mullins' guard. It would appear there are games afoot, thought Richard. He mounted his horse, and after traveling a wide berth around Mullins' men unearthed another trail. One horse and two men made this one.  
  
"We're getting close, Latham." said Mullins; rapping the man on top of the head with the riding glove he had just removed. He handed the reigns to Latham, and took a short walk through the brush to stretch his legs.  
  
"He has a horse M'Lord," said Latham with a shrug of his shoulders. "He could be miles away from here."  
  
Mullins walked back to where Latham stood, and calmly smacked him across the face with the glove. "You're trying to think again, Latham. Stop before you hurt yourself." Mullins got back on his horse and trotted off at a full gallop.  
  
From a safe distance of thirty feet away Richard watched the whole scene with disgust. Mullins' man was a human being, after all, even if he was not born to nobility.  
  
It wasn't a surprise to see Mullins out and at the center of the strange goings on. Not that it should, since he was now riding in the very heart of Mullins' forest. Damn, thought Richard, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. At this point it was too late, he was going to have to see it through.  
  
As soon as he saw the man and the boy take off on foot after Mullins he followed, careful to move quietly, keeping the distance between them.  
  
The horses were saddled. Bows with full quivers of arrows were slung over Armus' & Cedric's shoulders. Eleanor had her crossbow.  
  
"I can't believe you talked us into this," said Eleanor mounting her horse. "I heard father tell you to keep out of this. To let the Sheriff handle it."  
  
"Yes, but the Sheriff has called off his search. And if Mullins gets hold of this man, he's as good as dead." replied Armus, getting onto his horse.  
  
Cedric refused to ride. "Why should you care? You could have been killed because of him."  
  
"That was a case of mistaken identity, and it could have happened to anyone."  
  
"Anyone over a meter tall, at your weight, with a dark green hood.possibly," said Eleanor. "How many men in Kendal's Gate fit that description?"  
  
"Likely none," admitted Armus. "To tell you the truth, I'd rather just not see John Mullins have the satisfaction."  
  
This brought a wide grin to Cedric's face. "If you put it that way, let's go."  
  
Purdy heard them coming. He didn't see them, but they were out there. He'd risen before daylight and rode east down the main trail. At the end of the wood he found a small group of sentries, all unfortunately awake and alert. The same towards the west.  
  
He'd ridden north, back towards his camp, but found that over-run as well. The only direction now was south. This was also in most likelihood guarded as well, but it was the same place he'd entered the wood originally, at the land marker that led back to Sir Thomas Grey's lands. His reputation, Purdy thought, was as a fair and generous man. His best bet was to cross the border. So he'd headed back in the direction of the land marker.  
  
He could see the land marker at the edge of the wood, and set out towards it at top speed.  
  
He felt a rush of air past his left ear. Crown startled and reared up on his hind legs. When he'd settled the horse down, Purdy saw them.  
  
Ten, possibly fifteen men, hid amongst the trees. They stormed out wielding sticks, swords and scythes. They roared in triumph, waving their makeshift weapons in the air.  
  
Two came from the left and pulled Purdy from the saddle. He struggled to his feet and ran towards the marker, just a meter away.  
  
"Don't let him go!" he heard someone yell, and felt a hand on his collar.  
  
He fell backward, and rolled down into a shallow ravine. His head hit a rock. With his vision blurred, Purdy was unable to defend himself against the next attack. The mob quickly disarmed him, then kicked and punched him repeatedly.  
  
A bowman mounted Crown and was immediately thrown to the ground.  
  
Several others made an attempt to subdue the horse, while the man with the bow loaded an arrow onto it. He aimed towards Crown.  
  
Chapter Seven: "From The Fire Into The Frying Pan"  
  
Purdy's head ached. Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead. He thought he might have lost consciousness. But his vision was returning. He could now see the outline of the bow pointed at Crown. The horse continued to rear up, fighting for release. The man was unable to get a clear shot.  
  
One of the men who had beaten him ran forward with a rock and threw it at Crown. It hit the horse in the flank, stunning him.  
  
As the bowman took aim, the arrow flew from his hand.  
  
"Stop it right there! I command you! I order you all to put down your weapons, and release that man."  
  
It took a moment for the shock to wear off, but then Purdy's attackers roared. Some laughed, and others yelled insults at the heretics that would dare to intrude on their little game.  
  
Purdy could now clearly see three horses. One of the riders was.a girl! She had a crossbow aimed directly at the head of the man who'd been about to shoot Crown. She silently reloaded, never taking her eyes off her target.  
  
The man standing closest to Purdy spoke. "You get out of 'ere. You Greys have no place 'ere."  
  
The Greys! Thought Purdy. Coming to his rescue! They had to be the sons and daughter. But where was their father?  
  
"We can't do that," said the younger of the two boys.  
  
"I'm saying you ought to tend to what concerns you." He turned and whispered to one of the others, who jumped on a horse and sped off.  
  
"This does concern us," said the older Grey. "And I won't ask you again to release that man."  
  
"There be more'n ten of us, and only three of you," he looked around. The men all laughed.  
  
"Four!" came a voice from behind.  
  
Armus turned to see Richard riding up. "What seems to be the trouble?"  
  
"Just a bit of a disagreement over the treatment of this man."  
  
Richard peered at the captive, lying in a ravine, covered in dirt and blood. "Never seen him before."  
  
"It's a long tale. Did you see where that other man went?"  
  
Richard nodded. "Mullins and some more of his men aren't too far down that trail. Looking for him I suppose?"  
  
"What are you doing here?" asked Cedric. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, of course."  
  
"I was taking a shortcut. I'd hoped to make it home by supper. Wishful thinking."  
  
"Your stomach can wait," replied Eleanor under her breath. "What are we going to do about them? We are outnumbered, and Mullins is no doubt on his way. Armus, I hope you have a plan."  
  
"We are all right," said Armus. "Trust me."  
  
The standoff continued in silence. Purdy stayed on the ground. All he could do was wait it out. The Greys would not let him be taken without a fight. Their reputation amongst the villagers told him that.  
  
A noble rode up, with two servants trotting breathlessly alongside. From the look on the Grey children's faces this man was not an ally.  
  
The noble nodded in the direction of the Greys. He was smiling, but obviously through gritted teeth. The reaction he received in return confirmed Purdy's suspicions. He couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next.  
  
Richard couldn't stand the smug look on Mullins' face as he rode up. His two servants were visibly exhausted. The elder looked as if he was going to die right there on the spot.  
  
He'd no sooner opened his mouth to speak on the matter, when Armus held up a hand to silence him. "I'll do the talking."  
  
Armus turned his attention to Mullins. He too noticed Mullins' men, barely able to stand. But that wasn't the battle that needed to be fought this day.  
  
"Lovely morning, for a ride, isn't it Baron?"  
  
Mullins snorted. "I don't have time for pleasantries, boy," he spat out the words. "This man has a bounty on his head. He is now my prisoner. You are trespassing on my lands, and if you don't leave I will be forced to take the matter to the Sheriff."  
  
"You won't do that, Baron. If you do, I'll be forced to tell him how your men beat an innocent man nearly to his death on Grey property." He pointed towards a partially obscured land marker, at the edge of the ravine.  
  
Grinning, Richard dismounted, and climbed through the brush to the marker. He pulled at the branches until the sign was visible. On it, clear as day, was the Grey family crest.  
  
"He's on our property," said Richard, the smile still broad on his face. "That makes him our prisoner and not yours, if I am not mistaken."  
  
"Rubbish," said Mullins. "We've been chasing this man throughout my lands. He got in that ravine while my men were trying to apprehend him."  
  
"Which is on our land," said Cedric. "And now he's ours."  
  
"He was on his horse, on my lands when he was apprehended," said Mullins, and then stopped. "Why am I arguing with children?"  
  
"Children we may be," retorted Eleanor, coloring, "But these are our father's lands, and this prisoner is ours."  
  
"And we won't give him up without a fight," added Richard, drawing his sword. "Move out of my way," he said to the men surrounding the prisoner.  
  
The men looked at Mullins for guidance. He waved them away.  
  
Richard leaned into the ravine, and helped Purdy to his feet.  
  
Armus eyed Mullins suspiciously. It was too effortless. What was he up to?  
  
The noble Mullins and his men had gone, but not without a last word of warning that the conclusion to the matter was not yet at hand. He would be back. And he'd taken Crown as reparation for the stag that was killed.  
  
Purdy thought it time to take his leave. "I thank you my Lords and lady for rescuing me. I don't know how to thank you. I'll be on my way."  
  
"Not so fast," said the slender blond boy. "You're still accused of...?"  
  
"Poaching, among other things," said the elder boy.  
  
"Really?"  
  
The elder boy nodded and shrugged.  
  
The younger boy looked perplexed. "Just because we saved him from Mullins doesn't mean we can just let him go free."  
  
"Richard!"  
  
"What?"  
  
Purdy watched the brothers continue their argument in muttered tones. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but it did not look good.  
  
Chapter Eight: "Like Oil & Water"  
  
"There are times I think you go out of your way to purposely disobey me, Armus. I told you specifically to leave the search for Purdy to the Sheriff. You've been mistaken for the man once, and nearly got yourself killed. What were you thinking?"  
  
Armus tried to answer, but was cut off.  
  
"When your brother Richard comes back we are all going to sit down and have a serious talk. There will be some new rules put in place. This is my home. My castle, and if you continue to live under my roof..."  
  
"Father, please, let me explain..."  
  
"I've had it with explanations. I don't want to hear any more."  
  
But..."  
  
"Not another word, Armus. Not one."  
  
"Hello, father," said Richard, who'd entered the room silently.  
  
"Richard! When did you get back? How was your meeting with the Duke of Gippeswyc? I would daresay much less eventful than it has been here since you left."  
  
"It was, till just a short time ago," he admitted. "But I had no idea."  
  
Sir Thomas stopped him. "I should have guessed. Armus, did you drag Cedric and Eleanor into this as well? No, don't answer that." He walked over to the archway that separated them from the adjoining corridor. He pulled aside a tapestry to reveal Cedric and Eleanor, crouched down in an attempt to hide. "Join us?"  
  
"Hello father." they said in unison.  
  
"Tell me what happened. The whole story, from the beginning."  
  
Armus knew Sir Rupert Botkesham only by reputation but there was no question in his mind that this man in the tattered tunic and dark green hood (very much like his own) was Sir Rupert.  
  
He extended a hand for the man to shake, but was met with a sullen stare. This was not going to be easy, nor should it. What could he expect by way of greeting from a man he had hours earlier locked in a dungeon?  
  
"I trust you've been treated well?" he asked. "The guards and servants have been instructed to treat you in as much a humane manner as is possible."  
  
Silence.  
  
"The Sheriff will no doubt be arriving soon to take you to the King's prison. I have asked father to ask them to also treat you humanely. I believe you deserve at least that much for the service you've rendered to your King and country."  
  
Purdy couldn't help himself from reacting with an audible snort. Uncomfortable, he averted his eyes to the floor.  
  
Armus pulled up a nearby stool, and sat just outside the door. He reached both arms in through the cell bars, almost up to the elbows. He clasped his hands together, fingers locked. "Scoff if you will, but you know what I'm talking about. You're not the aimless wandering fool you present yourself to be.Sir Rupert."  
  
Purdy's head shot up. The two men locked eyes.  
  
"It is you! Sir Rupert, I truly wish there was something I could do."  
  
Purdy broke his silence with a single muttered statement. "Release me."  
  
"I cannot."  
  
More silence.  
  
Armus tried another approach. "If you just told them who you are I'm sure some sort of arrangement could be made. We are not savages. The Sheriff will see reason."  
  
"The Sheriff is in the pocket of your neighbor Baron John Mullins, or hadn't you realized?" Purdy asked sarcastically. "I'll get no more consideration from him than I would from an elm tree."  
  
Armus wasn't sure how to respond. Purdy had learned much about the way of things during his short stay. And he was correct. There might not be anything anyone could do, even his father. "It can't hurt to try," he said without much conviction.  
  
Purdy stood and wiped the dirt from his breeches. He began to pace the length of the cell. He appeared to be thinking aloud. "That stag was no more Mullins' property than it was mine. It wasn't for sport. I needed to eat. Nothing went to waste."  
  
"But there are better ways of getting food than poaching. I'm sure if you'd told someone who you really are.."  
  
"I'm a wanted man."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Where am I not?" Purdy said wryly. "I have a bounty on my head in so many villages that I've lost count. But then again, you wouldn't know anything about being hungry, and without shelter." He patted the wall. "You've spent your whole life as one of the few. The privileged. Oh, why do I even bother? Go away. Leave me to stew in my own misery."  
  
Armus watched him pace. Silently, brow furrowed.  
  
Purdy rushed forward, grabbing outwards, knocking Armus off the stool. "I told you go! Get out! Leave me be! Are you daft?"  
  
The Sheriff arrived as expected, with Mullins and several guards in tow.  
  
"I believe you have something that belongs to me," said Mullins, as if he were asking for an object not a person.  
  
"Yes. I am loathe to admit it but I do."  
  
"Oh, Thomas, you're not going to do this again are you?"  
  
"Again?"  
  
Mullins placed a gloved finger to his temple. "If I recall correctly, we've been here before. Thanks in part to your over active sense of morality. Don't make this harder on yourself. Just give me Purdy, and we'll go."  
  
"Father, no. You don't understand!" Armus charged into the room at top speed. "You can't hand him over, you just can't."  
  
"We've been here before too," said Mullins, amusedly.  
  
The Sheriff stepped between the adversaries. "Enough bickering. The two of you have given me a permanent ache in my head."  
  
"The man's name is not Purdy."  
  
Sir Thomas held up a hand to silence his son. "Armus, please, not now!"  
  
"You must listen to me!"  
  
The Sheriff waved a hand. "Be brief."  
  
"The man we are holding is not who he appears to be. I believe that he is Sir Rupert Botkesham.I."  
  
Mullins laughed aloud. The noise echoed through the room. "Thomas, I think your son has finally lost what sense he has left. There is no such man. He's a product of old wives tales."  
  
"I have to agree," said Sir Thomas to the great surprise of Armus, and everyone else in the room. Especially John Mullins.  
  
"Yes, well." began Mullins. "Since we are all in agreement, if you will hand over Purdy, we'll be on our way."  
  
"I don't think so Baron Mullins," said the Sheriff. "If there is some doubt as to this man's identity, we must find out who he really is."  
  
Mullins protested loudly. "The letter of the law states that no man shall infringe upon another man's rights, regardless of his status. I don't care who he is. He poached off my land, and I will see him punished."  
  
The Sheriff ignored him, and turned his attention to Armus. "Did he tell you he was Botkesham?"  
  
"Not in so many words, no, but."  
  
"Sheriff, this is."  
  
"Baron, be quiet!" The Sheriff threw Mullins a warning glance. "I'm afraid we are going to have to look further into this matter. We cannot punish a man without having the proper identification. He is entitled to a fair trial."  
  
"Fine," said Mullins. "We can find out who he is just the same in the King's dungeon as we can here."  
  
"Thomas?" The Sheriff, and all eyes were upon him.  
  
Sir Thomas glanced between the men, finally resting on the face of his son. This was a definite dilemma. Mullins was correct. They had been in this position before. Many times he had stood against Mullins to do what was right. This time he was not sure that Mullins was so wrong. He thought it over for a moment, before replying. When he spoke it was slow and deliberate.  
  
"I think it best, that Purdy, or whoever he is, stays put till his wounds are healed."  
  
Armus rubbed his elbow where it had impacted with the stone floor. It no longer hurt, but the memory lingered on. "He's upset. I can understand that."  
  
"You can understand the man attacking you? Armus how can you turn a blind eye to something like that?"  
  
"I have to take into consideration the man's circumstances. I don't know what has happened to him since he returned from the Crusades. I do know that many a man, myself included came home truly changed by the experience."  
  
"He obviously changed for the worse," replied Richard.  
  
They joined the rest of the Greys at the supper table. The day's events did nothing to diminish their hunger.  
  
Sir Thomas sighed. Not one bit of this should have surprised him. This was not the first time his children had brought trouble upon his house.  
  
Armus attempted to change the subject. "I am sorry for disobeying you father."  
  
"Again."  
  
"Again. But I could not stand back and watch that man be beaten to death."  
  
"I agree," said Richard. Eleanor and Cedric nodded their agreement silently from their places around the supper table.  
  
"It is possible that he did commit these crimes, and regardless of whom you might think he is, he has to be turned over to the Sheriff."  
  
"As long as he gets a fair trial."  
  
"Don't bring that subject back to the fore." chided Sir Thomas.  
  
"Where is he now?" asked Cedric.  
  
Eleanor made a face. "Locked in chambers. Talk about fair treatment. We rescue him and then restrict him."  
  
"That was my doing, Eleanor," replied Sir Thomas. "I have no other choice. The man could be dangerous. I will not have him roaming the castle. I had him locked in the dungeon but Armus talked me out of it."  
  
"Why?" asked Richard, incredulous. "I agree that no man deserves the fate he would have faced if Mullins had his way.but he is a common criminal. Give him a fair trial, absolutely, but in the meanwhile keep him where he can't hurt anyone."  
  
"He won't."  
  
"How do you know, Armus? How do you know? This isn't one of your stories with happy endings all around. This is reality. Sometimes I wonder who really is the eldest child." Richard threw his fork down, and stormed out of the room.  
  
The staff had been apprised that they were not to enter the chamber where Purdy was being detained unless accompanied by one of the guards. This edict from Sir Thomas included the Friar, as much as he protested. It made him nervous having the armed guard standing by the door while he tried to talk to Purdy. And it was not helping to put the man at ease either.  
  
"Can you stand on the other side of the door?" the Friar asked, and was told with no room for doubt that his orders were to stand inside the room till another guard relieved him. No exceptions. If he did not follow these orders he would be dismissed from service without pay, and escorted off the grounds.  
  
"It's all right, Friar," said Purdy. "I have nothing to hide. I'm innocent. How can a man be justly tried and convicted when he was just defending himself?"  
  
"I believe you, my son. But then again that is my nature," said the Friar, nervously. He removed a rag from the cuff of his sleeve, and mopped his brow. "Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Baron John Mullins. He won't stay silent."  
  
"That is why you need to hide me, Friar." Purdy sat up suddenly, causing the Friar to jump just a little. "If you take me under your wing, offer me the sanctuary of the church they cannot possibly touch me."  
  
"That is not a decision that I can make lightly. I.I.shall have to consider the options, yes.I shall have to take some time." The Friar rose to go. He mopped his brow. "You must rest now. Regain your strength." The Friar hurried from the room. The guard followed, locking the door behind him.  
  
"My strength I shall regain. And then I will get as far away from here as possible." Purdy said to himself.  
  
Days passed, and little by little Purdy regained his strength. He became the almost constant companion to Armus, who had been taking Purdy for walks, and the occasional ride.  
  
As they grew closer, Richard withdrew more and more. This fact was not lost on Cedric.  
  
"You're jealous," he said one day out of the blue. "You can't stand to see Armus and Purdy being so friendly."  
  
"I couldn't care less. If he wants to waste his time with someone of that.sort.let him," replied Richard unconvincingly.  
  
Cedric opened the window, and saw Armus and Purdy walking towards the stables. "Then why aren't you outside with them? He's not really that bad you know. A little odd, perhaps."  
  
"He may have this family charmed to the point where they forget who and what he really is."  
  
"He's a brave and respected knight." Cedric watched as Eleanor ran up to join Armus and Purdy at the stable. She linked her arm into Purdy's.  
  
"There's no proof of that. He's obviously taken on the identity of Sir Rupert strictly to evade prosecution."  
  
Cedric turned from the window. "There's no proof of that. He's not evading anything. As soon as his health has returned, he plans face the charges."  
  
"And he told you that."  
  
Cedric shrugged. "It is what Armus said. And I believe my brother."  
  
"Armus isn't thinking clearly."  
  
"Or possibly," said Cedric carefully, "It is you that isn't thinking with a clear head."  
  
"I'm the only person in this family looking at the situation without a bias. And I don't trust him." Richard picked up a book, and pretended to read. "Why don't you join them outside if you're so enamored of his company?"  
  
Cedric noticed the book was upside down. He leaned over, and turned it the right way. "I will."  
  
Richard slammed the book shut and tossed it to the floor. "Fine."  
  
"Fine!" Cedric bit his lip. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"  
  
"I'm just fine here alone," said Richard defensively. "What do you care?"  
  
"I don't," replied Cedric, with a shrug of his shoulders. He started to leave, but paused at the door. "Now you know how I always feel," he muttered under his breath.  
  
There was a knock at the door. Richard woke with a start. It was dark outside. He'd dozed off. "Come in."  
  
Eleanor entered, wearing a very feminine dress. He's gotten to her too, he thought.  
  
"Richard, come downstairs. Armus is going to tell us a story."  
  
"No thank you. I've had enough intrigue to last me a lifetime."  
  
Eleanor shut the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed. She took his hand. "I know it's been hard on you, seeing Armus and Purdy."  
  
Richard pulled his hand away. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"  
  
"Because it's obvious."  
  
"There is nothing further from the truth."  
  
Eleanor smiled knowingly. "Oh Richard. Why can't you let your guard down for one minute? You have such pride, and it gets you nowhere. Please come downstairs. For me?"  
  
".And the knight fought with all of his remaining strength and."  
  
"Lived to fight another day."  
  
"Richard, let the man finish," scolded Armus. "Ignore him, Sir Rupert. He has no sense of adventure."  
  
"Please, Armus...I beseech you again, just Purdy."  
  
Armus smiled and nodded.  
  
"And it is quite all right," said Purdy, taking a pull on his wine. "I have met many a doubtful man during my travels. I have met many a believer. It is a true fact that the believer is a man...or a woman," he nodded to Eleanor, "Who may bask in the glow of love. But it is the wise man, the non- believer, who keeps the rest of us who would so easily fall to the most romantic of words, honest."  
  
Cedric, Armus and Eleanor all laughed. Richard did not.  
  
"Lighten up brother," said Armus, patting Richard's shoulder.  
  
Richard shrugged the hand away. He glared at Purdy. "I'll lighten up, when he's gone."  
  
"I have to apologize again for Richard, he can act younger than his years at times."  
  
Richard fumed. "I don't need you to explain away my words or actions. And I don't need you acting like my father. I'm not sorry for how I feel. And I don't care if he knows it either." He jerked this thumb in Purdy's direction.  
  
"Will you excuse us?" said Armus, rising. He grasped Richard's arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him from the room.  
  
"Let me go!"  
  
Armus kept his steely grip on Richard's arm. "Not until you explain your horrid behavior."  
  
"I can't stand you all treating this man like he's a member of our family. He's guilty. I don't care if there are no good witnesses to his crimes."  
  
"The man needed to eat, and then he defended himself. As I did when I was attacked. Would you see me jailed for that?"  
  
"That's different. I can't put my finger on it, but I have this nagging feeling that something isn't right," said Richard sullenly.  
  
"Well you're wrong. And I want you to go back in there, apologize and stop all this nonsense."  
  
"There you go again, acting like our father. I won't go back in there, and I am not going to pretend to like this charlatan."  
  
Armus stood silent, mouth agape. "Charlatan? Who is he pretending to be?"  
  
"An honest, law abiding man. A knight. He's no more a knight than Jessup Harmon's pig."  
  
Chapter Nine: "A Pig In A Poke"  
  
Over the course of an average night in a drafty castle, many different noises could be heard. Wind whistling. A tree branch scraping hard against a window. The squeak of a mouse on a nighttime raid finally caught in a trap. This noise was not any of those. Nor could he pinpoint what it was.  
  
Armus sat up in bed. He heard it again. Pulling his blanket over his bedclothes, he rose slowly and quietly. Padding across the room in his bare feet, he grabbed a candle from a wall fixture, and lit it.  
  
Out in the corridor a chill invaded his bones. He could see very little. A window had been left open, and the pre-dawn fog had begun to invade the confines of the corridor. He shut the window, wincing at the shrill whine of its rusty hinges.  
  
He turned and made his way down the staircase. The scraping sound echoed its way towards him.  
  
He peered down the corridor that met with the bottom of the staircase. He felt a presence and heard movement but could not see a thing. A voice broke through the darkness.  
  
"Armus is that you?"  
  
"Purdy?"  
  
"Yes, Armus, it is I."  
  
"What are you doing down here at this ungodly hour? You gave me a start."  
  
Purdy came into the dim light cast from Armus' candle. "I did not mean to scare you. I couldn't sleep, I thought some air might clear my head. What are you doing awake at this hour?"  
  
"I heard a noise. An odd scraping sound."  
  
"I didn't hear a thing," said Purdy rubbing his eyes.  
  
Armus looked around, and realized Purdy was alone, yet he was still under father's orders to be watched at all times. "Where is the guard?"  
  
Purdy looked at the floor. "I don't know if I should say."  
  
"You'd best tell me, I'll find out in any case."  
  
"I don't want to get the poor man in trouble, but I'm afraid he was sleeping at his post. I didn't want to wake him, and I didn't think that it would be a problem if I got back without being seen. I do apologize."  
  
Armus shook his head. "Well we'd best get you back to bed before father sees."  
  
"So you won't speak of this?"  
  
"No, I won't, as long as you promise that it won't ever happen again."  
  
"You have my word as a gentleman. And thank you Armus. You are indeed a good friend."  
  
The chambermaids hurried to finish cleaning the floor before Sir Thomas arrived for his breakfast. They'd come up from their rooms just before dawn to find a trail of muddy footprints leading from the back gate all the way to the dining room. This of course was completely unacceptable. They couldn't understand where it had all come from, it had been clean before they'd retired for the night. Then they had seen the muddy slippers of Brian, the cook's son, just outside the door. What he was doing in the castle they didn't know, but it wouldn't happen again. Not if it meant another early morning session of floor polishing.  
  
His brothers and sister had convinced Richard that a walk would do him good. At first he was very happy for the invitation, but then he learned it was also extended to Purdy. After an unsuccessful attempt to extricate himself from the situation, he was forced to accompany them to Kendal's Gate. He kept a three paces distance between himself and Purdy at all times.  
  
They came to a fork in the road. The right path, which was the longer in time and distance, led directly to Kendal's Gate. The left and shorter path, passed directly through John Mullins' lands, before turning back towards the village. Though normally they would have taken the shorter route, it was decided this one time it best to travel via the long road.  
  
Upon arriving in Kendal's Gate they headed directly for the inn. It was empty save for Mully Bendel, Amanda, and two of Renfrow's guardsmen. Upon seeing the Greys enter, one of the guards rushed out the door.  
  
"There goes trouble," remarked Cedric over his shoulder.  
  
"Never mind that," said Armus absently, as he returned a wave from Amanda.  
  
He motioned for her to bring the pitcher of ale she carried. She did so gladly, but the smile faded from her face as she saw Purdy. She spat on the floor at his feet. "You? You're not welcome 'ere." She turned to Armus. "You Greys are always welcome, but this one e's got to go."  
  
"What's wrong Amanda? Why?"  
  
"We don't want his kind 'ere. We don't need that kind 'o trouble with the guard. You got to leave, please."  
  
Armus and Cedric started to argue, but Amanda would hear no more about it. She walked away with the pitcher of ale still in here hand. Armus moved to follow, but was stopped by Purdy.  
  
"I understand, Armus. It is not a problem. I will wait outside for you."  
  
Richard sat back down. "That's settled then."  
  
"No, it isn't," said Armus. "If he must leave, we all must."  
  
"I want a drink," replied Richard.  
  
"Then you can stay by yourself."  
  
"I'm thirsty as well," said Cedric sheepishly. He'd sat down also.  
  
Eleanor looked at her brothers with disgust. "Don't worry Armus, I'll go outside with you and Purdy. It's a beautiful day. Too beautiful to spend inside."  
  
A short time later Richard and Cedric joined Armus and the others outside. They'd taken a spot in the sun in front of Jessup Harmon's home. Armus and Purdy sat on the ground, while Eleanor, (on the insistence of Purdy that a lady should not sit on the ground), perched on the edge of Sir Arthur's cart. She was careful to not get too close to the rather large, slobbery animal.  
  
A somewhat ale-giddy Cedric took a place on the ground next to Armus. Richard took the only spot he could, while still keeping his distance from Purdy. This was unfortunately on the other side of the cart next to Sir Arthur. The pig seemed almost happy to have the company, and Richard could swear he saw it smile.  
  
Richard adjusted his pack, which was too large to fit into the space between him and Sir Arthur. He was forced to remove it, and place it on the ground next to Cedric.  
  
"I'll keep an eye on that for you, shall I?" said Cedric, lying down with the pack under his head like a cushion.  
  
Armus took a deep breath. "What a day! I don't think I could imagine up such a fine day in the best of stories."  
  
Purdy agreed with a nod of his head. "And how about you Eleanor? Do you agree?"  
  
She smiled and nodded uncomfortably, while keeping one eye on Sir Arthur, who had been slowly inching closer to her.  
  
"I think he likes you," joked Richard. At the sound of his voice, Sir Arthur turned and let out an unhappy squeal.  
  
"I don't think he fancies you," said Purdy. "I knew a farmer once, who told me that pigs are very particular about who they like or dislike. And no matter what you do, they don't change their minds. Rather like people, aren't they?"  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Richard angrily. "Are you comparing me to a pig?"  
  
"Not at all, I was just saying."  
  
Richard jumped off the cart. The sudden movement startled Sir Arthur, and he rose up suddenly. The shift of weight in the cart sent the opposite end where Richard had been sitting into the air. Eleanor tumbled off the other end to the ground with a thud, followed by Sir Arthur. Eleanor rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed.  
  
The commotion woke Cedric from his nap, only to find himself face to face with the pig. He yelped and jumped to his feet. The others burst out laughing.  
  
"That isn't funny," said Cedric, holding a hand over his heart.  
  
After handing over his last few pieces of silver to Jessup for his trouble (and a broken cart wheel), Richard decided he'd had enough. He pulled Armus aside.  
  
"I'm going back."  
  
"I can't stop you," replied Armus. "But I'd be pleased if you stayed."  
  
"I can't," was all Richard could say. He pushed off from the cart, and started away. He heard Armus call his name. He didn't respond. He was too angry and needed time to think.  
  
A few moments down the road Richard came upon an abandoned lean-to. He went inside, and found remnants of what appeared to be beds made of straw, along with a fire pit, and some crude eating utensils. He made himself comfortable on one of the straw beds, and mulled over the events at Covington Cross since the unexpected arrival of Purdy just one week before.  
  
He didn't know how much time had passed, but the light had begun to dim. Realizing that Armus and the others had in most likelihood already returned home, he started off. There was no call to give father any more to worry about.  
  
Reaching the edge of Kendal's Gate, he easily decided to take the shorter route back to Covington Cross. The quicker he arrived the less there would be to explain.  
  
The path was much less traveled, and at times, obscured by underbrush. He stepped carefully where he could see the vines and stones. Night was descending, and with the branches from the tall trees creating an almost solid canopy above him, the path seemed to disappear. He grasped for his pack, but it wasn't there. Damn, he thought. That must have been what Armus was calling for. He'd left his pack with all his provisions (including several candles), back at Kendal's Gate.  
  
He stumbled and collided with a row of shrubs. Winding his way around them and back onto the trail he kept on.  
  
What had been small stones, vines and other impediments increased in size and frequency. Richard stumbled more often. He finally stopped trying to go further. Stooping with his hands out in front of him, he felt at the ground. From the thickness of the brush under his fingers, he realized that he'd at some point gone off the path.  
  
A cloud of worry descended onto him. If he couldn't find the path, he'd be forced to stay the night on Mullins' land. He could easily create shelter, but it would get very cold, and he was not dressed warmly enough to last the night. He dug a hand into the brush. It was wet underneath the top layer, a consequence of the recent rain. Even if he could find dry twigs for kindling, Richard was not sure a fire could sustain him if the weather turned fowl.  
  
He stood, and turned in all directions. There was a light directly ahead. Why had he not seen it before?  
  
Richard carefully made his way towards the light. As he neared within a few steps it flickered out. He stopped and waited. It returned but further away. He knew it has to be a trick on his senses, caused by his disorientation in the dark. He kept on towards it.  
  
Chapter Ten: "The Deluge"  
  
There was no answer to the knock on the door. Armus called his brother's name. He tried the latch. It was open. He entered, to find the room empty. They'd returned home expecting to find Richard already there, but he was nowhere to be found.  
  
Eleanor joined him. "No luck. He wasn't in the stables or the tilting yard. Cedric is looking out in the east field."  
  
"He wasn't in the tower or the cellar either," said Armus absently. "I wonder if he went back to Kendal's Gate?"  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
"I don't know, but where else could he be? He couldn't have just vanished into thin air."  
  
Cedric rushed up the stairs, an expectant look on his face. It quickly faded. "I checked with the Friar, and all the servants. No one has seen Richard since we left this morning."  
  
Armus made a decision. "I'll go tell father. Cedric, you round up all the men you can. Eleanor, get torches, and warm clothing. We're going out to look for him."  
  
"But it's dark. How are we going to find him when we don't even know where to look?" asked Eleanor, tears welling in her eyes.  
  
"I don't know Eleanor, but we must try."  
  
The light grew closer and closer. Every few moments it would flicker out and re-appear in a different place. Richard was sure that he was getting closer. He had to be.  
  
The rain had started again, and within moments the water poured down upon him in torrents. The thin clothing he wore was no protection, and soon he was soaked to the skin.  
  
He was far off the path now, but there was no turning back. The ground was saturated with rainwater, and he could hear the sucking noises under his shoes as he raised and lowered his feet.  
  
The light flicked out again. He stopped to wait for it to return. It did, and this time closer than ever before. There was something odd and comforting. It was a beacon, a lifeline. Calling him. Beckoning him to come. He quickened his step. He stepped into a deep hole, and sank abruptly into the mire up to his knees. His legs became heavy with mud. Unable to pull himself out, he panicked, his arms flailing about wildly. Something rough and spiky brushed his cheek. It was a vine. He grabbed at it, winding it around his hand so that he would not lose it again in the dark. He pulled, hoping it would not break free into his hand. It held. He wound a length of it around his waist so that he would not sink any deeper into the mire.  
  
Using the rest of the vine as a rope, he mustered the last bit of strength he had and pulled himself out of the mud.  
  
Once back on solid ground he lay silent, breathing hard. The cold wind and rain sent a shiver up his back and then reversed itself down to his feet. He could never remember being so cold. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of light.  
  
Cedric had left with the first search party of ten men all on foot. They would head up the long road and into Kendal's Gate. Once there, the men would question the villagers while Cedric continued on by horseback to fetch the Sheriff.  
  
Sir Thomas and Armus waited inside while their horses were readied for them.  
  
Sir Thomas was speaking but Armus was not listening. "Armus, where is your mind?"  
  
"Sorry father, I.feel so guilty. I let him go without his pack. He has nothing. No food, no water, no protection save his sword. It is bitter cold outside, how can he survive?"  
  
"He is resourceful. And we will find him." Sir Thomas' words were strong, but the tone lacked conviction.  
  
Armus felt a cold wind tickle the back of his neck. It came from the staircase. He shook off the thought, but it crept back into his mind as the moments passed. "I have left something upstairs, I'll only be a moment."  
  
Sir Thomas had begun to pace, and waved him off. "Yes, fine. Go ahead."  
  
Armus climbed the stairs. He stopped at the window on the second landing. It was closed tight. He descended one level and paused. He continued, and peered around the corner. The guard was at his post, and wide-awake. Excellent, thought Armus. That is one less thing I have to be troubled about.  
  
The beam of light was nearing. Richard's feet were heavy, and felt as if they were made of stone.  
  
He broke through the heavy brush into a clearing. The sudden freedom of movement surprised him, and he stumbled forward, landing hard on the ground. A pile of nettles stung him in the face. He brushed them away, and pushed himself back onto his feet.  
  
Richard took several steps, and felt the earth give way beneath him. He fell for what seemed a lifetime. The world went black.  
  
"I don't want to stay behind!" cried Eleanor to Sir Thomas as he took to his mount. "I want to help you look for Richard."  
  
"You will obey me, Eleanor," said Sir Thomas harshly. He softened his voice. "Please, just once, listen to your father."  
  
Eleanor reluctantly agreed, but followed the search party on foot till it reached the start of the castle moor.  
  
She turned and went back to the castle. Waiting just inside was her attendant, Yvette, who fussed over her wet and ragged condition. Yvette refused to allow her to wear the wet clothes, and so they retired to her chambers to change them.  
  
She succumbed to allowing Yvette to fuss. A bath was drawn, and she spent a quarter hour soaking in the rose petal covered water. Finding her bedclothes laid out for her, Eleanor tired of the ado, and shooed Yvette away. Tossing out the idea of sleep, she dressed in leathers, and a heavy woolen vest.  
  
She left her chambers, and turned the corner to go down to the main hall. She would wait up all night if it came to that.  
  
It was unduly cold in the long corridor. At the end where the stairs met the landing she found a window open. The hinges creaked as she closed it.  
  
Down at the landing for the next corridor she heard a noise. It was most definitely snoring. Disturbed, she lit a candle, and marched down the hall to where the guard slept. She had to kick at his foot several times before he woke. After listening to his story that he'd only just dozed off for a moment, Eleanor informed him that he could stay awake the rest of the night thinking about where he would find new employment.  
  
She turned to leave, but hesitated. She knocked on the door to Purdy's chamber. There was no answer.  
  
"He must be sleeping, Lady Eleanor. Hasn't made a sound all night."  
  
"How would you know? You've been asleep yourself," she replied.  
  
"The door is locked Lady Eleanor, he can't get out."  
  
She tried the door handle. It was indeed locked.  
  
Grahame Doughtery, the miller's son, ran through the village. He returned to the tavern, out of breath.  
  
"Lord Cedric! Lord Cedric! I spoke with Jessup Harmon he saw your brother leave Kendal's Gate and he said he never returned."  
  
Cedric reined his horse, and re-mounted. "Go and find the other search party. Tell them I went to wake the Sheriff, and I'll join them soon."  
  
"Yes Lord Cedric! Right away!"  
  
Cedric watched him go, and then started off in the other direction at top speed.  
  
The deluge continued, making the search more difficult. Torches were rendered useless. The ground, so fully saturated in water, made running the horses at top speed impossible.  
  
Armus felt a strong weight fall upon him, and from the look on his father's face; he knew that he was not alone.  
  
"Sir Thomas! Lord Armus! Sir Thomas!!"  
  
A voice came from behind them. Grahame Doughtery approached on foot.  
  
"News from Cedric," said Armus and turned his horse. He rode to meet Grahame who fell to the ground, exhausted.  
  
Armus dismounted, and stooped to pick him up. "What news?"  
  
"Richard was seen leaving Kendal's Gate, and did not return."  
  
Sir Thomas rode up next to them just in time to hear the news. He looked up into the blackened sky and screamed. "RICHARD!"  
  
Chapter Eleven: "Reasonable Doubt"  
  
Richard had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. His head pounded, and he tasted blood. He tried to stand, but pain ripped through him, and he collapsed.  
  
He could hear voices. But they were in his head, weren't they? He tried to call out, but his voice did not come. It had abandoned him as well.  
  
Horses. Men. Searching. Calling his name. He picked up a rock and tried to throw it out of the hole. He did not have the strength, and it plummeted back down beside him.  
  
Richard beat his hands on the ground in frustration. The voices faded and ceased. They were gone.  
  
The fire flickered, a log of splintered wood popped, and sparked. Eleanor watched it, but didn't see. She was thinking about her brothers and how they should be with her then in front of the fire, telling stories. She wished so much for that moment to be again it made her heart ache. She despised being there alone. The Friar had sat with her for a time, but he had surrendered to sleep, and now snored peacefully in the chair behind her.  
  
She needed the comforts of someone nearer to her age. She needed a shoulder to cry on. Something propelled her to rise and go up the stairs. She followed the dim light of the candles down the corridor to Purdy's room. The guard was again asleep. She did not wake him. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but stopped. Convincing herself that she was being a silly fool, she knocked. There was no answer.  
  
Eleanor reached into the guard's pocket, and removed the key. Unlocking the door, she knocked again, and entered. The chamber was empty.  
  
The forest was dark; the only illumination was his torch. It flickered brightly and then weakened. He blew warm air upon it, and the light grew brighter once again.  
  
Stepping carefully he entered the glade. Towards the center was a wide hole. Around the edges were the remnants of vines, brush and branches.  
  
"Please.help me." A weak voice came from below.  
  
He peered over the edge of the pit, straining to hear. "Hello?"  
  
"Please.help. Please."  
  
"Richard Grey, is that you?"  
  
"Yes, please. Find help." Came the voice, weaker than before.  
  
He took two steps back from the edge of the pit to steady his footing. He patted at a tree with his free hand. He found what he'd looked for. A rotted knot in the trunk. Removing a knife from a sheath at his waist, he chopped at the knot till it broke loose, leaving a hole in the tree. In that hole he placed the handle of the torch.  
  
Now with both hands free, he lifted a cord of rope from around his shoulders, and tied one end to the tree.  
  
The voice came from below. "Please, help me. I think my leg is broken."  
  
"I'm coming to help you, be still," he replied and then squatted down by the tree to wait.  
  
Cedric smelled bacon. He'd forgotten all about dinner. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had no appetite. He declined the offer of food made by the Sheriff's wife, as he waited impatiently for the Sheriff to dress.  
  
A horse was already saddled and waiting by the time he came from his chamber. He kissed his wife, and followed Cedric out the door.  
  
They rode back to Kendal's Gate silently, the wind and rain at their backs. They rode through under the watchful eye of the villagers. They made only one stop, at the home of Captain Renfrow. They pulled him from his supper table, and with an order from the Sheriff that he should gather his men, rode on onto the forest.  
  
The sound of footfalls broke into the relentless pounding of the rain. Purdy lowered the rope into the pit. "Take hold! I'll pull you up!"  
  
"I can't reach," rasped Richard. "Lower it!"  
  
Purdy hesitated, peering over his shoulder. He lowered the rope as far as it could go. He could feel Richard tugging on the rope.  
  
"I'll pull you up. Hold on!" He pulled on the rope, and slowly lifted Richard out of the hole.  
  
The footfalls were joined by voices, and flickering torchlights.  
  
"Over here!" Purdy called out. "He's over here."  
  
He heard replies, call outs and more replies. He looked down at Richard, who stared. Not at him but through him. "Are you all right? You're safe now. They're coming."  
  
"You s-s-aved me," said Richard through chattering teeth. "Th-th-thank you."  
  
Wounds dressed, injured leg elevated on a cushion, Richard sat by the fire drinking a large goblet of ale. He was wrapped in several layers of clothing, and more than one blanket. Still, the chill inside him did not lessen.  
  
By his side, Eleanor, sound asleep. The moment he had come through the door she had burst into tears. He felt horrible seeing her like that. She had cried for what seemed like hours, and finally, his hand in hers, had drifted off. They sat that way still.  
  
Armus joined them. He looked weary, and pained. His hair was still damp, and a few strands stuck to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"I could be better," replied Richard, sounding more like himself. "Falling into a hollow isn't quite how I envisioned ending my day."  
  
Armus couldn't help but laugh. "Nor I. Well it was lucky for us that Purdy found you. We must have passed that same spot several times and never saw that pit."  
  
"Yes.I suppose so. Lucky."  
  
Armus' brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"  
  
"What was he doing out there?"  
  
"Searching for you, the same as us."  
  
"I mean alone. If he were with your search party he should have been with you. What was he doing out there by himself?"  
  
"I don't know," replied Armus.  
  
That question was again raised at breakfast, by of all people Cedric. He'd arrived at Covington Cross not long after Armus had brought Richard in from the storm. The Sheriff was in tow, and was none to pleased when he heard the details of the rescue. Sir Thomas had placated him by promising they would turn Purdy over to the King's guard, as he now appeared to be in perfect health. But it would have to wait until morning. Captain Renfrow on the other hand had been livid. It had taken three of his men to restrain him.  
  
"He was locked in his room wasn't he?"  
  
"The guard fell asleep," said Eleanor. "I picked his pocket, Purdy could have done the same."  
  
They all looked at Armus for an explanation. He had questioned Purdy, but the answers were not clear. He had gotten past the sleeping guard, and climbed out the window using a piece of rope. He'd felt responsible for Richard's endangerment, and felt the need to assist the search. He was apologetic for the way he had accomplished it, but Richard was safe and sound, and wasn't that what they all wanted?  
  
"I don't condone his methods, but I must give him the benefit of the doubt. If his motives were not as he says, he would not be locked in chambers right now. He would be free, and far away from here. I believe him. He was out in the night because he wanted to help."  
  
"And he did, and I am grateful," said Richard, rubbing his leg. It was not broken, just badly bruised, and would mend in its own time. "And, as much as I dislike having to say it, I do owe him my life."  
  
Armus smiled. "Tell him, not me."  
  
Twelve men worked furiously to fill in the chasm. Standing by to oversee the job was Joshua Latham. A messenger from Baron Mullins had wrenched him from his bed at the crack of dawn.  
  
Now he stood in the middle of the wet forest glade, filling in a hole which had not been there just days before when they had last passed. He would in most likelihood not be paid for his labors either.  
  
"I'll talk to him father. The Sheriff will see reason."  
  
"No, it's all right, Armus," said Purdy, placing a strong hand on his arm.  
  
Sir Thomas looked to the Friar. "Will you take him Friar? At least with your presence Purdy will get to his destination. From there.I have no control over the events."  
  
"I would be honored to make the journey, Sir Thomas."  
  
"I'd like to go as well," said Richard from the doorway. "I owe him that much. To keep him safe on his journey."  
  
"I'll accompany you," said Armus.  
  
Sir Thomas shook his head. "No Armus I want you to stay here. Let Richard and the Friar take care of this."  
  
Armus began to protest, but something in his father's eyes stopped him. "Yes, I agree. Purdy will be in very capable hands."  
  
Chapter Twelve: "Intrigues"  
  
The hour was late, but the Friar could not sleep. He was several hours into reading an old text regarding the tenets of sanctuary. He'd not come across the answer. This was not holy ground, nor was he even of a status to grant such a request, as a lowly Friar. It was his mission to take confession, give solace to the downtrodden, and minister last rights to the dead. Sanctuary was not within his powers.  
  
Still, there had to be something he could do. But only if it was true that Purdy was defending himself against the guard's unprovoked attack. The poaching offense...well it was Mullins' land and he had riches to spare. What was one stag killed as food. He could at least grant absolution to Purdy for that.  
  
There was a knock at the door. "Come."  
  
It was Armus. "May I speak with you Friar?"  
  
"Yes, Armus, please. I was just doing some light reading."  
  
Armus read the imprint on the spine of the text. "This is light reading?"  
  
"I couldn't sleep."  
  
"Neither could I." Armus sat on the edge of the Friar's bed. "I've been awake all night trying to think of a way we can help Sir.Purdy."  
  
"As was I." He explained Purdy's request for sanctuary, and his own dilemma.  
  
"If we sent a message to."  
  
The Friar shook his head. "I thought of that. I doubt the Abbot would be of much assistance. The man is a pompous ass. He cares only for his own comfort, including the fine clothing he wears, the money for which comes out of his Parish purse."  
  
"Friar! You're brilliant!" Armus jumped to his feet, and headed for the door.  
  
"I am?"  
  
"Yes, you've given me an idea. Thank you Friar. See you in the morning."  
  
"You're welcome," replied the Friar, very confused, yet glad to have helped. He suddenly felt tired. He closed his text, blew out the candles and retired to his bed.  
  
Just after daylight Armus ran up the stairs, waking his brothers and sister.  
  
"What's wrong?" asked a sleepy-eyed Eleanor, coming into the corridor. She pulled a heavy white shawl over her shoulders.  
  
"It isn't yet dawn. You'd better have a good reason for waking us," said Cedric, sounding awfully like their father.  
  
Richard was the last to join them. He was visibly unhappy but didn't say anything.  
  
"What is all the ruckus?" Sir Thomas came from his chambers and saw his children gathered there. "Armus you had better have a good reason for waking us," he continued, echoing Cedric's words and tone exactly.  
  
Armus had to stifle a laugh. "I didn't mean to wake you, father. But since you're here I can tell you as well. I have an idea of how we can save Purdy."  
  
"Save him?" asked Richard. "From what? Having to stand trial for crimes he is known to have committed?"  
  
"He saved your life," said Armus. "Now it is your turn to save his."  
  
Richard responded with a grunt.  
  
"Father, this could finally prove Purdy's innocence."  
  
"Or guilt," offered Richard.  
  
Sir Thomas looked at his children for what seemed like an eternity. "I get the feeling if I ask what you're going to do I am not going to like it. Does this involve John Mullins in any way?"  
  
"It might."  
  
"And if I say no, will you obey? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know." Thomas sighed. "No, I take that back. Though I'm sure I will come to regret it later, tell me your plan."  
  
A loud knock on the door woke John Mullins from his sleep. "What is it?"  
  
The door opened, and his chambermaid entered, along with a messenger he recognized as being in the employ of Thomas Grey.  
  
"Please forgive me, Baron. This man says he can't give this letter to anyone but you."  
  
Mullins wasn't about to get out of bed. He snapped his fingers. The man stood in place. "Bring me the letter." The man didn't move. Mullins gestured to the chambermaid who took the letter and walked it the three steps to the bed. She handed it to Mullins, curtseyed, and took three steps backwards.  
  
Mullins opened the letter. His mouth dropped open as he read it. He finished, rose from the bed, walked to the fireplace, and tossed the letter into it.  
  
Kendal's Gate was alive with activity. This was not uncommon even for the hour, but something was suspicious. Captain Renfrow rose from his spot next to the fire pit. He warmed his hands one more time, then giving his second in command strict orders to keep the men on alert, went to check on the commotion.  
  
Richard Grey met him almost immediately. "Good morning Renfrow." He received a broad smile and a slap on the back along with the greeting. "And how are you today?"  
  
"Fine, M'Lord. I was just going to check on the bit of ado over there by Jessup's."  
  
"And I was just coming to retrieve you for just that very reason. How convenient!" Renfrow got another slap on the back.  
  
Cedric Grey appeared, and wildly motioned to his brother. Catching Richard's attention he jerked his head toward Jessup's.  
  
"I think it is time," said Richard, taking Renfrow's arm. "Come with me please, Captain."  
  
Richard led the Captain the long way around to Jessup Harmon's house. They weren't quite ready yet, but he didn't think pleasantries were going to be able to distract him much longer.  
  
Sir Thomas stood nearby, with Eleanor and Cedric. Armus was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Ready?" Richard inquired.  
  
"Not quite yet," said Sir Thomas with a smile. "Our guests of honor have yet to arrive."  
  
Mullins paced the length of the courtyard. Stationed nearby was Latham, with Mullins' horse.  
  
"What is taking so long?" Mullins asked of no one in particular. A messenger had been sent to the Sheriff over an hour before. It stated clearly there was an urgent matter to be taken care of, and he was to get himself to Mullins' castle immediately. "Damn," he said, checking the sundial again.  
  
The sound of horses came through the gate. Mullins ordered the guards to open them.  
  
"What the devil is the problem, Baron? I am running out of patience with you," said the Sheriff. He did not dismount.  
  
"You forget to whom you are talking," said Mullins, eyes narrowed. "If you prefer I'll go straight to the King. He might be very interested to know that you're not taking your sworn duties seriously."  
  
The Sheriff rolled his eyes. "All right Baron, what is it?"  
  
"We haven't time. I'll tell you on the way." Mullins was already on his horse, and on his way out of the gate.  
  
"I'm far too advanced in age for these intrigues," said the Sheriff and followed.  
  
By the time they arrived in Kendal's Gate, the scene was set. Standing a few feet apart, on the lane, were twelve men. All twelve were tall, broadly built, and wore similar clothing, including dark green hoods pulled down low over their eyes.  
  
"What is this Thomas?" asked the Sheriff, dismounting, and handing the reigns to one of his men. "I don't understand."  
  
"It has come to my attention that a great miscarriage of justice has occurred. This man, whom we all know as Purdy."  
  
"You mean the poacher your children took from my custody." said Mullins with a sneer.  
  
"Alleged poacher," interrupted Sir Thomas. "But as I was saying I believe this has all been a case of mistaken identity. There was no witness to the alleged incident of poaching. Just because the man known as Purdy was on Baron Mullins' property, which in itself is not a crime, does not mean he poached that deer."  
  
"Quite right, Thomas," said the Sheriff impatiently. "That is what a trial is for." He looked around at the crowd that had since gathered to watch the proceedings. "What exactly have you done with Purdy? He is slated to be imprisoned in the King's garrison today."  
  
"I was getting to that," said Sir Thomas sarcastically, which elicited muffled laughter from his children. He cleared his throat. "Since there is no evidence that any poaching occurred, we'll concentrate on the other matter at hand. There is a witness to the violence that took place several eves ago here in Kendal's Gate." He pointed to an obviously confused Captain Renfrow.  
  
"He saw a man who identified himself by the name of Purdy. That man allegedly injured several of the Captain's guard. Captain Renfrow has stated that he feels he can identify that man if he saw him again. I would like to call to your attention the events of the following night, when Captain Renfrow attacked my son Armus, without provocation.because he had mistaken him as Purdy." Sir Thomas paused to allow all the information to sink in.  
  
"He has stated that it was dark on both occasions, the weather was foul, and that they both wore dark green hoods." He turned to Richard, and nodded. "With that in mind we have set up this little demonstration."  
  
Richard dragged the Captain by the arm, and stood him in front of the line of men in the green hoods. "Which one is Purdy?" he prompted.  
  
"This is preposterous," Mullins protested.  
  
The Sheriff waved him off. "No, Baron. I want to see this. Captain? Which one is Purdy?"  
  
Renfrow looked from one man to the other. He put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said.  
  
"Make a guess," Richard prodded.  
  
Renfrow paused a few moments more. "If I had to make a guess," he said carefully, "It would be that one." He pointed to the third man in the line.  
  
Richard, smiling, walked to the third man and removed his hood to reveal the face of the now accused man.  
  
Chapter Thirteen: "The Best-Laid Plans"  
  
'The best-laid plans o' mice an' men  
Gang aft a-gley,  
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain  
For promised joy.'  
- "To a Mouse" - Robert Burns  
  
"This proves nothing," ranted Mullins. "This is an outrage! The King shall hear of this."  
  
"Pipe down, Baron," said the Sheriff. "The King always hears of everything. It shall be no surprise to him to see your messenger on his threshold." He turned his attention to Sir Thomas. "He does have a point, Thomas. Just because Captain Renfrow picked the wrong man, it doesn't mean he can't identify the real Purdy."  
  
"I am aware of that. My point was that if he could mistake Armus for Purdy not once, but twice.if he did identify Purdy, could that word be trusted?"  
  
"You've given me enough doubt to say no. But I don't make that decision. I'll have to ask you to reveal which of these men is Purdy."  
  
The last man in line took off his own hood. "I am Purdy, and I am an innocent man."  
  
"Well said!" replied Armus. "I think we can conclude these proceedings."  
  
"No so fast," said the Sheriff. "I said I have reasonable doubt, but that does not mean this man can walk free. The trial must still be held to determine if this man should be punished for the crimes of which he has been accused. There are other witnesses to the attack on Captain Renfrow."  
  
"His men, who will say whatever their Captain tells them," said Cedric. "This man will never have a fair trial."  
  
"Everyone calm down!" Sir Thomas bellowed. "I don't know that I agree with the Sheriff, but I must abide by the law."  
  
"Then hand him over," said Mullins with a smirk.  
  
The arguments continued for the better part of an hour. It was eventually decided that Purdy would be placed back into the custody of the King's Guard, without delay. He would stay there until the next session of court convened a fortnight hence, at which time the trial would take place, and his permanent disposition would be decided.  
  
Duke Emmersely called for a messenger. The hour was getting late but the urgency of the matter could not allow for further delay. He'd waited far too long as it was, though not by any means on purpose. He had fully intended to send ahead the letter of confirmation to Sir Thomas days before, but it had slipped his mind.  
  
Many things did, during recent days. He was aging, and business was oppressive and tedious. There were so many details to ponder, and offers to peruse and consider. It was no wonder that every so often some element would slip through unnoticed. He much preferred a foxhunt, or a walk on the moor.  
  
Time was of the essence, wasn't it, for something? Oh yes, the letter. His mind had wandered again. The letter. Yes, to Thomas Grey. He would have to send for a messenger. Or had he? He recalled a decision to send an emissary. Yes that was the correct path to take. A most generous good will gesture.  
  
Sir Thomas had sent his son, and it was only the proper course of action to deliver the letter in person. But he could not very well go himself. That would not do. He'd chosen a friend to go in his stead. The letter was to be delivered to that man, who would then personally deliver it to Sir Thomas with his regards. But who was it? Oh yes, the name was right there on the letter.  
  
Emmersely peered out the window. The light was fading. Where was his supper? And his wine? He lifted his goblet to his lips. It was empty. How many was that? He did not recall, but he loved ale, and wine. He loved spirits of all sort, to tell the truth. His wife, the Duchess, of course did not, and delighted in angering him with the topic. They'd argued on that very subject earlier in the day, and he'd been so clearly provoked into violence. The Duchess had then retreated to her chambers, with orders that she not be disturbed.  
  
Yes, it was almost suppertime.  
  
A polite knock at the door called his attentions from his empty goblet. A messenger entered. Had he called for one? Of course. The letter. There was a letter, it was in front of him, but he could not recall at that moment writing it. He decided it must have been before the last drink. It was obviously of a certain importance, if he had called for a messenger at such a late hour.  
  
The messenger waited expectantly. Emmersely sealed the letter with wax, and handed it to the boy with instruction that it be delivered immediately. He stressed the importance of its arrival and sent the boy on his way.  
  
He chuckled and glanced out the window. It would be suppertime soon.  
  
At Covington Cross, the mood was somber. It appeared that Baron Mullins had won the battle if not the war. Purdy would go to trial. He would undoubtedly be convicted, and face hanging.  
  
Supper was conducted silently. As night fell, the Greys retired to their individual chambers. There was no story telling session by the fire. No exuberant swordplay in the tilting yard.  
  
When all was quiet, Eleanor crept from her room, and made her way down the corridor. On impulse, she tugged at the window latch. It was locked. She stepped lightly to the lower level, and continued to the end of the corridor. She turned the corner, and found the new guard, wide-awake. He stood, weapon drawn. He requested that she identify herself, which she did, with some annoyance. Although he was certainly an improvement over the last guard, he was trying too hard. He'd been in the employ of the Grey's for several years, and knew very well who she was.  
  
She requested he unlock the door. He refused. Upon being questioned, he revealed a direct edict from Sir Thomas that the prisoner was not to leave the room, nor was he to have any visitors. No exceptions. The only persons aside from himself to enter the room would be Sir Thomas and the Friar.  
  
"Damn those Greys," ranted Mullins. He picked up a heavy paperweight and threw it across the chamber. It impacted with a window, which shattered into tiny pieces.  
  
"What I don't understand is," he continued to himself, aloud. "Who is Purdy? What does he mean to them? Could he be a relation? Or." he mused, "Possibly Sir Thomas owes his family a debt."  
  
"Or more likely it is some plot to discredit me," he shook off that thought. "But, on the other hand, where did that hollow come from? It could not appear from thin air. Someone must have dug it. But why?"  
  
A chambermaid come to clean up the broken glass interrupted his reverie. She was a comely lass, one he had never seen before. He asked her name, and how long had she been there. He found she was indeed fresh, and that brought a smile to his face. He needed a distraction from his concerns. She would do just fine. He closed and locked the chamber door.  
  
He had just convinced the girl that it was in her best interest to comply with his advances when there was a knock on his door.  
  
"Go away!" he yelled, and pulled loose the bow from the front of her smock. The knock came again, louder and with a new sense of urgency. "This had better be damned important!"  
  
Baron William Melchet was not at all pleased to find the messenger on his doorstep. It was rude and inconsiderate, he believed, to interrupt a man's supper with business. Still, he accepted the message, and with a silent nod to his wife the Baroness, proceeded to his study to read it.  
  
It was from Duke Emmersely. Written in the man's own scrawling and barely legible writing was a request to take a letter of confirmation to Sir Thomas Grey at Covington Cross. Melchet rubbed his chin. He tried to recall if he had ever been to Covington Cross. Possibly on tax day? In either case, it was at least a full day's ride. He was perturbed. This was the last errand that he would ever want to have to run. Still, it would not behoove him to refuse a favor to the Duke. Melchet called to his side his attendant, and informed him to make ready for travel. They would leave for Covington Cross at sun up.  
  
He looked at the letter that had been tucked inside his own message. It was not sealed. No doubt a drunken oversight on the part of the Duke. Melchet could not resist the temptation to look. He carefully unfolded the letter. Not too abysmal a contract, he thought to himself, while folding up the parchment and putting it into his pocket.for safe keeping.  
  
Latham bowed his way into the room. His eyes met with those of the terrified chambermaid, Veronica. Recognition passed across her face, then faded. If Mullins noticed the furtive glance between he and Veronica, he did not make it apparent.  
  
Latham realized that as much as he would prefer to leave the chamber with Veronica (the daughter of his first cousin) by his side, he would have to speak quickly and depart. He did so, the regret creeping into his tone. He informed Mullins that the horse taken as payment from Purdy had broken free and trampled a farmhand to death just moments before. Latham backed out of the room with orders to prepare the horse, as best possible, for auction the next day. He held a small purse of coins, to be given to the wife of the farmhand, in deference of her loss.  
  
Chapter Fourteen: "And One Shall Lead Them"  
  
Outside there was only dark. The Friar wiped a rag against the dew-covered glass in the window. He ran the edge of the rag against a crack that bisected one of the panes. He did not recall the glass being broken before, but would speak with someone later about having it repaired. He could not see out into the courtyard, and tried to open the window. The latch turned but it would not yield to any force he applied. He brought a candle closer, and found that a row of nails had been tamped into the stone sill. He glanced over his shoulder at Purdy, who sat in the far corner, asleep, a book open on his lap.  
  
Sleep had not come easy to Purdy. He had dozed but then awaken in a cold sweat, eyes wild, heart racing. He had explained to the Friar his dream, one that came to him many a night. He was a boy, lost in a dark forest, and he could hear the call of wild animals hunting him. He then told a story from his childhood, the very same that inspired his nightmares. There was a time when he was very young and had run away after having an argument with his mother. He had wandered far, while following a doe, and had lost his way. It had grown dark, and he could hear the sounds of wolves in the distance. It had scared him and he had cried out, for hours it seemed, until someone had found him.  
  
The Friar had again been awake the entire night. He had tried to sleep, but thoughts of the trip to Berkeley Castle raced through his mind. It was not the travel so much; he knew that would be uneventful. It was the fate of Purdy once they arrived that gave him concern.  
  
He rested himself on the edge of the bed. He could at least rest his eyes. No sooner had he done that then a commotion was heard from the corridor. He looked to Purdy who had risen from his sleep, and went to the window. Light streamed through the glass, the crack creating a prism on the adjoining wall.  
  
The Friar rubbed sleep from his eyes. It was morning, but he'd only just sat down for a moment.  
  
He rose to the sound of rattling keys. The door opened. Richard entered, he worse a grave expression, accentuated by flat, emotionless eyes.  
  
It was time.  
  
They set off unaccompanied just after breakfast. The morning fog had not yet burned away, but the sun shone above them. It would not be long before the day warmed.  
  
The Friar was grateful for that, as the cold often tore through his old bones like a knife through butter. He stared up at the sky wistfully from his place in the cart. Purdy sat next to him silently, refusing to make conversation. He had wanted to ride on horseback to Berkley Castle, but had been denied the request. There of course had been the fear that Purdy would flee if given the chance. An allegation that Purdy vehemently denied. Nevertheless, he was safely ensconced in the cart. He was not bound, but instead left under the watchful eye of the Friar, who had been given a weapon, which he of course could never use.  
  
Richard was also silent, his eyes locked on the road ahead. The Friar knew he was an excellent coachman, and found himself relaxing as the time continued to pass.  
  
This was just a continuation of the somber mood they'd felt that morning. Upon packing the cart with foodstuffs, they'd said their farewells. Armus had taken the events quite badly, and had vowed that he would make the trip himself and be in attendance when the court convened. He had given Purdy a gift, one of his favorite possessions. It was a leather blackjack that he himself had been given by Sir Thomas as he'd left for the crusades. Purdy had refused the offering, stating he could never repay him for the kindness he had already shown. Armus knew this to be true, but struck the man a deal.  
  
He would have use of the blackjack until the next time he was a free man, and he would be, Armus was sure. At that time, if he so desired, he could return it to Armus, and consider the entire debt paid. Purdy agreed, and they shared a parting drink from the blackjack.  
  
As they had set off, Purdy had attached it to a leather belt, and slung it around his neck. He had since not once taken his hand from it. He held it close, occasionally lifting it to his lips to take a long slow drink.  
  
He was finishing off its contents as something caught his attention. He asked the Friar if he had heard a noise. The Friar had not. Purdy rose from his place in the cart, just as the wheels hit a rut in the road. He was tossed backwards. Richard stopped the horses, and turned, and glared darkly at Purdy.  
  
Before Purdy could explain, they all heard the clamor. There was the distinct call of an angry wolf. No, multiple wolves, on the attack. Richard turned to start the horses, but Purdy grasped at his elbow from behind. Richard pulled his arm away. They did not have the time to spare to save an animal that was no doubt already near death. Let the beasts feed.  
  
Purdy insisted on waiting, just for another moment. He begged Richard to remain. He was sure he heard the voice of a child. Did the Friar hear it? The young voice calling for help. The Friar looked between the two faces, and saw a growing impatience in Richard's. Behind Purdy's unwavering, glare he could see the face of the panicked little boy, lost and in the dark, afraid of the sound of the wolves. Yet, he had to admit he had heard nothing but the howling of the wolves. Purdy slammed a fist down onto the wooden side rail. He stared at Richard for a moment. Richard nodded and turned to start the horses. In the split second Richard was not paying attention, Purdy snatched the crossbow and arrows from the Friar's lap, and jumped from the cart.  
  
The Friar could only watch the events, as Richard, aware of Purdy's escape, jumped to the ground. He yelled to the Friar to stay with the cart, and not to leave it for any reason. He drew his sword, and called out after Purdy. There was no response. He took off running after Purdy, who had already disappeared into the forest.  
  
Richard was in disbelief. Though somewhere deep inside he'd known all along he was correct, that Purdy was not who he pretended to be, something about that was a disappointment. A small part of him did wish that he were the brave knight in Armus' stories. The stories being real could.make all the stories real. Even the ones his mother told. Maybe it would make her real for him again.  
  
He called out to Purdy. He did not see him, but found tracks on the forest floor. He had to catch this man. He could not be allowed to escape. After everything they had been through.  
  
Richard paused for a moment to catch his breath. Or was it his duty to let Purdy escape? A life for a life? Did he not owe him that much?  
  
Barking. Growling. Baying. He was getting closer. And there it was again, the voices, children crying for help. He had to get to them; the wolves would not get them. He heard Richard's voice as well, calling out to him. He stopped and yelled back, till he was sure he'd been heard. He followed the cries of the children again, till he came to a clearing. Hiding in the brush he saw them.  
  
Five wolves. Howling in hunger, and unbridled fury. Scrambling to climb into the trees. Scraping with their claws at the trees, pulling off pieces of bark from the trunks as they grappled unsuccessfully to climb.  
  
In the lowest branches of one of the trees were two children. He could not tell their ages or whether they were boys or girls. But they each sat precariously on thin branches, barely able to hold their weight, legs dangling and far too close to the snapping jaws of the wolves.  
  
He loaded an arrow into the crossbow and took aim at the wolf nearest to him. He took his shot. The arrow made contact with the wolf, sinking directly into its heart. It fell from its feet, dead before it even hit the ground.  
  
The other wolves became distracted from their quest to get to their prey. They surrounded the dead animal. Howling and sniffing at the corpse the remaining four paced in a circle around it. The biggest wolf lunged and sank its teeth into it. The others followed, crying out in hunger and fury, as they tore the dead wolf to pieces.  
  
Richard pushed on through the brush, following the sounds of the wolf pack. He emerged into a clearing, only to find himself face to face with the wolves. They were too busy eating to notice, and he ducked back down into the cover, only to discover Purdy loading the crossbow. Within moments all the wolves were dead from arrows to the heart or head. Purdy and Richard emerged from the brush and wandered into the clearing. They peered up into the trees to see the two peasant boys, eyes wide.  
  
Richard called out to them, and motioned for them to come down.  
  
Back at the cart, and out of harm's way, the older boy, all of eight years of age, explained their plight, as the younger, possibly five or six, hid his face in his brother's shirttails.  
  
Their father had led them on a journey after the sudden death of their mother by an unknown affliction. They had been traveling by foot, since the sale of the horse and cart, a week earlier. They'd had to sell first the cart, then the animal to purchase provisions. When they had again run out of food, they'd taken to foraging for nuts and berries. They had filled their stomachs that way for several days. Then their father had taken suddenly ill. It was his fear that the plague that had taken their mother had overcome him as well. He had tried to send his children away, but they did not want to leave him, insisting on staying by his side until he passed.  
  
He made them promise to bury him under the tallest elm tree they could find. They had promised just that. When their father passed, hours later, they had set out to find the perfect tree. After locating an elm they knew their father would like they had returned to retrieve his body only to find a pack of wolves tearing into his flesh. The wolves, still hungry, had chased them up into the trees, which is where they had stayed in fear for their lives, until the wolves had been scared away by the arrows.  
  
The younger boy had wandered away while his brother had been paying attention to the telling of their story. The Friar set out to find him, and he was not far. He had taken a seat on a thicket of moss, set somewhat aside from the clearing. He was picking berries from a bush that stood no taller than the boy. Having overcome his shyness, the lad explained that his father had eaten the berries, and had proclaimed them quite delicious. He had been using the tail of his shirt as a pouch, and showed the pile the Friar proudly. The Friar coaxed the boy from his hiding place with the promise of a drink to go with his meal. They made their way back to the clearing just as his brother was completing his account of their troubles.  
  
After hearing their tale, Richard had inquired how long they had been in the trees. He did not know. Time had passed, days and nights, he thought. Neither could truly remember as the rumbling of their stomachs left no room for any thoughts but food.  
  
The two boys were lifted into the cart. Richard had first whispered to the Friar that the younger boy felt no heavier than a half full sack of sugar, and then set about feeding them.  
  
The berries were poured into a bowl. Just as the younger lad, whom they learned was called Peter, lifted a generous handful to his mouth, Purdy cried out, and knocked the fruit from his hand. He tossed the entire bowl out of the cart. He had seen them before, and knew they were poisonous. Roger, the elder boy, confirmed what Peter had told the Friar. Their father had eaten a large amount of the berries the day before he had died.  
  
This would mean that their father had most likely not died of any plague, but from the poison in the berries. Both boys put down their cups and began to cry. After a time, they dried their eyes, and looked to their rescuers for comfort.  
  
Richard asked if they knew of any relations that would be able to take them in. Roger replied that he did not think there were, but their father had been taking them somewhere. He was sure of that. He just did not know where, or even where they were. Nor did they know where to go now, other than back into the woods.  
  
The Friar thought for a moment. He recalled a monastery not too far from that very spot. It would be a half day's ride out of their way, of course, but they very well could not leave the children in the woods to starve, die from poison berries.or even worse another attack by wolves. It was agreed that they would take the boys to the monastery, where they could seek shelter, food and comfort from the Friars who resided there.  
  
Leaving the boys with the Friar, Richard and Purdy set out to locate the remains of the boy's father. They found them not too far from the clearing. They found an old tree, and just as had been promised to the man, they worked together for a time to dig a makeshift grave, and laid the body to rest. After collecting the boys and the Friar, a short ceremony was held at the graveside. Neither boy cried.  
  
They arrived at the monastery at mid-day. The boys had fallen asleep, no doubt from exhaustion. Roger rose slowly, and in a state of confusion. He asked several times where he was and who were the people around him. The efforts to rouse Peter were fruitless, and he was lifted from the cart by one of the Friars, who then carried his tiny body inside.  
  
Roger had by then gathered his wits about him, and stood by, silently, shoulders hunched. He blinked rapidly through the layers of soot on his face. Two clean streaks ran down his cheeks, one on either side, no doubt from the tears he had shed earlier.  
  
Richard had tidied the cart, and motioned that it was time to go. The Friar lifted himself back into the cart with some difficulty. He could hear his bones groaning under the stress of the weight he carried. He again vowed to himself to reduce his wine consumption.  
  
They waited for Purdy to join them. He was not ready to leave, he told them. Richard warned him the day was already growing long, and they could not delay any longer. His pleas were ignored.  
  
They watched as Purdy removed the blackjack from around his neck and handed it to Roger, who attempted a smile, but hesitated and shook his head. Ignoring the refusal, Purdy pressed the leather tankard into the boy's hands. He patted him on the head, and climbed into the cart without a word.  
  
The Friar turned to look back as the cart lurched forward towards the gate. The boy now stood bravely, his back straight. He wore a great gap-toothed smile on his face. He waved.  
  
Chapter Fifteen: "Revelry, Reverie, Risk, Revenge"  
  
As the horse continued to fight for release, threatening physical harm to the petrified Paige holding its reins, Mullins continued to smile.  
  
Several of the Courtiers laughed and pointed at the spectacle. Mullins making a fool of himself was not a sight to be missed (from a careful distance of course).  
  
He was attempting to convince the Duke of Donnebury that the horse could be broken. The Duke was not impressed with Mullins' presentation. It was obvious to him that if the horse could be broken Mullins' man would have done so himself. Donnebury took his leave.  
  
"Such a fine horse. Pity that it will need to be put down," said another Noble who had been watching the exchange, accompanied by a young woman of considerable beauty.  
  
Mullins did not recognize the man. Older. Fleshy of face, and stout of body. "Put down? Not at all, sir. This is a fine beast, and once broken he will serve his master well."  
  
"Where did you acquire him?"  
  
"It was given as a matter of compensation."  
  
"Is that so, Baron John Mullins?"  
  
"Yes.I'm sorry, you do have me at a disadvantage. Have we been previously introduced?"  
  
The Noble extended his hand. "Many pardons, Baron. We have not met, but your reputation precedes you. I am Baron William Melchet of Gippeswyc." Though it was impolite, he did not introduce the woman. She did not appear to be offended.  
  
"Gippeswyc? You're rather far from home."  
  
Melchet cleared his throat. "Yes, I am.on business."  
  
"Yes.business has the tendency to take a man away from his home and family." Mullins nodded knowingly, and noticed color creep into Melchet's face. "Are you looking for a horse? This is a fine animal."  
  
"Yes it is. Quite," said Melchet, not meeting Mullins eyes.  
  
Confidence radiated from Purdy as the party arrived at the far side of the bridge leading to the Royal Castle. They had been joined several kilometers back by several of the King's Guardsmen.  
  
The Friar was sent ahead accompanied by one of the guards. He was to make contact with the principal jailer, explain the circumstances, and make preparation for Purdy to surrender formally.  
  
After being searched for weapons, Purdy was allowed to pass. It was explained that he was required to be manacled, and he put up no resistance. He requested that they be loosened, as the circulation in his limbs had diminished considerably since his thrashing. With some apprehension the guards agreed. The prisoner, after all, did not appear to be dangerous.  
  
They crossed the bridge, and dismounted. Horses forbidden to be rode in the courtyard, due to the continual foot traffic. The presence of animals frequently had the tendency to create a walking hazard, not to mention issues of cleanliness. They tied the horses to adjoining posts, and continued on foot.  
  
The guard led them through the courtyard. It was brilliantly decorated. Tapestries and flags hung from poles, which were joined together with multi- colored woven ribbons. The flags waved in the light, but constant, breeze that had followed on the heels of the storm. The walk underneath their feet was made of carefully shaped and polished stone. Echoes from the clicking of heel-to-stone could be heard all around.  
  
Light-hearted lute playing could also be heard. This was far away. Much closer was the sound of an auction in progress. This was coincidentally, and inconveniently the day the local merchants and Nobility were allowed into the court to ply their wares.  
  
They came upon the crowd gathered to watch the auction. The lead guard shouted out, and a path was created for them to walk through. All eyes were upon them, most especially the shoddily tailored man in chains.  
  
Richard saw an acquaintance of his, and they shook hands as he passed. This would have been a wonderful day, if the circumstances had been different, thought Richard.  
  
They broke through the crowd into the center of the courtyard. There, they spied the last person in the world that they'd ever have wanted to see. Richard and Purdy exchanged glances.  
  
Baron John Mullins stood aside a platform, on which his man Latham stood, a grimace spread across his features. Behind a podium stood the court auctioneer, a wiry man with white hair sprouting in unkempt tufts from the top of his head, calling out the most recent offer to the crowd.  
  
Between them, a horse. A fine, strong steed of high breeding. It paced back and forth as far as the reins would allow. The sound of the auctioneers call exciting it, the animal bucked, and whinnied. It wanted its freedom.  
  
Purdy fixed his gaze back to the platform. His face smoldered with anger. His jaw, set open at an angle, locked. Mouth open, teeth bared. The physical tension from within him flowed outward, creating a pocket of sudden inexplicable warmth around them.  
  
Richard placed a warning hand on Purdy's arm, and whispered loudly into his ear, "Don't even consider creating a drama. This is neither the time nor the place."  
  
The guard prodded at Purdy's back with his shield. "Come on, get moving. There's nothing for you to see here."  
  
"That is my horse," replied Purdy with unconcealed disgust, as if he considered the guard of a lesser station than himself, while ignoring his true position.  
  
"Your horse?" the guard replied. "You couldn't own a horse of that breeding. You're just a petty bandit."  
  
"That horse was stolen from me," Purdy replied, and raising his voice shouted, "By that man!" He wheeled and pointed to Mullins who turned to see what the commotion was about. A smile melted from his face.  
  
"Who is that man?" asked Baron Melchet, who had just bid a tidy sum on the horse.  
  
"I have no idea," replied Mullins calmly, his smile restored. He turned back to the auctioneer. "I believe the last offer was one hundred."  
  
"Get moving!" said the guard shoving Purdy forward. Another guard appeared out of the crowd and took his elbow, pulling him along forcibly.  
  
The auctioneer continued. "Do I hear two hundred?"  
  
Melchet raised a hand to his forehead. "Oh my dear," he said. Unbeknownst to him, the auctioneer saw this as a bid.  
  
"Two hundred. Do I hear two hundred fifty? Two hundred fifty?"  
  
"That is my horse!" cried Purdy, resisting. He whistled towards the platform as the passed. Crown, hearing the call of his master bolted, and leapt off the platform. Latham, still holding onto the reins was lifted from his feet. He let loose of the reins, and fell from the platform onto a bale of hay sitting alongside it.  
  
The auctioneer wobbled from one foot to another, gripping his gavel tightly. "Two hundred going once." He tried to get his bearings. "Two hundred.. going twice." He fell from the platform, continuing his call of "Soooold!", all the way down. He finished with a bang of his gavel on the stone floor.  
  
The crowd of Nobles surged backwards to avoid the frenzied animal. Richard, caught amongst the throng of distraught nobles was forced away from the scene. He struggled to free himself, as the men and women alike fled the area.  
  
Purdy kicked and fought against the crew of guards now trying to restrain him. Using his manacled hands as a weapon, he thrust upwards, knocking one guard in the chin and off his feet. He reached down and grasped at the man's sword, yanking it free. Now armed, he yelled at the other guards to leave him be. They backed away a few steps to regroup.  
  
Screams could be heard from the noble women. The men yelled to the guards to detain the insane criminal. Richard pulled his sword and threatened an overweight, dough-faced noble standing in his path. With a look of fear, mixed with indignation the noble stepped back, clearing just enough space to allow Richard to make his way back to the podium. There he encountered Purdy, weapon in hand, blade thrusting outward.  
  
Mullins and Melchet stood aside, out of harms way. Mullins conducted himself with his usual steely composure, but the smile was missing. Melchet on the other hand was visibly quite flustered and nervous. His face flushed, he clutched his purse and a tailored silk handkerchief to his chest.  
  
"This is your doing, is it Richard Grey?" said Mullins. "I told you this man was a menace."  
  
Richard slowly turned his gaze to Mullins. "With all due respect, Baron.BE QUIET!" He turned to face Purdy. "Put down your weapon."  
  
Purdy ignored him and whistled to Crown. The horse stopped, its frantic pacing, and trotted calmly to Purdy, nuzzling his face. Purdy reached up, and patted its muzzle. "I told you this animal belonged to me!" he yelled.  
  
"You forfeit that horse when you poached from my land," replied Mullins. "That horse now belongs to me. And I am free to do with it what I wish. And I believe I have sold it to Baron Melchet for one hundred."  
  
Melchet sputtered. "I.I.do not believe the auction was quite final, Baron."  
  
The auctioneer rose to his feet, and waved his gavel to get their attention. "It had your Lordship. But for two hundred," he said meekly.  
  
"No!" yelled Purdy. He ran across the courtyard and lunged at Melchet, knocking him down. Throwing the sword aside, he sat on Melchet's chest, and hammered his bound fists into the Baron's face and neck.  
  
Melchet held his purse and handkerchief up in front of his face as protection, crying out like a child. "Oho no, get off me! Get off me!"  
  
Now disarmed, Purdy was quickly wrenched away and restrained by the guards. His eyes blazed with an astounding hatred. He spat in Melchet's direction as he was lifted from his place on the floor by two guards. Melchet recoiled in fear.  
  
Crown was reined and led away. The auctioneer followed, but left a safe distance between himself and the horse.  
  
Richard stood by, watching the events, completely stunned. He could not find words as the guards towed Purdy away. He had no response as they passed and Purdy cried out his name.  
  
Mullins sidled up to Richard. "Delightful day for an auction."  
  
Chapter Sixteen: "Tales"  
  
"One law for rich and poor alike, which prohibits them equally  
from stealing bread or sleeping under bridges."  
  
- Unknown  
  
A messenger had arrived from the King. Sir Thomas read it in silence and with a shake of his head, dropped the message onto his desk.  
  
"What is it father?" asked Armus from the door.  
  
"I'm afraid things are worse than we thought. Baron Melchet has asked that Purdy be charged for his attack."  
  
"But he was provoked."  
  
"And it gets worse. That man, the guard that was hurt. His leg got the gangrene, and they did not catch it in time. The sickness spread, and last night he died. Purdy will now stand trial for murder."  
  
"I don't believe it. He murdered no one. It was all a case of mistaken identity. He was." Armus let his words trail off. He knew no protests he could offer would make any difference.  
  
From just outside the room, Richard only half listened to the conversation. His eyes focused on nothing. He had seen just what Purdy could be like when provoked. And the provocation did not have to be all that great to produce a reaction. The doubts he'd had were no longer doubts. Purdy was guilty.  
  
Voices raised in anger echoed through the hall. Two peasant men argued before the Noble whose turn it was to preside over the session of court. One of the men alleged that the other had stolen from him his prize chicken, and cooked it into a stew. The second man of course denied having anything to do with the theft, he didn't even like the taste of chicken.  
  
His Lordship Duke Bickmore of Hornsby, who was widely known as a bit of a stickler for the law, and rules, and proper behavior was presiding over the current session. A great bore, he had few friends, and many enemies. With nothing better to do he often attended other sessions of court, to watch and critique the proceedings. He could sit in court for hours and mull over papers and details, and not miss a single thing. He was also known for making swift, if not somewhat odd, judgments. He was, in essence, perfect for the job.  
  
Bickmore banged his gavel on the desk. There were no witnesses to the crime, and no evidence as the chicken had, by the accusers own admission, been eaten. He dismissed the case, warning both men to stay away from each other for the period of one year.  
  
The cases continued. The Greys sat in the gallery, on the side of the room that held the other Nobles. Grandly attired, many sat with handkerchiefs to their noses, and complained about the heat and the smell. Others waved plain white paper fans in front of their faces, while making similar complaints and small talk.  
  
To their left, the sat the commoners, the peasant folk. They all sat quietly, in their tattered, dirty clothing. None of them had handkerchiefs or fans to help them fight the stifling heat of the room, or repel the smell of their own unwashed bodies.  
  
Also in attendance was Baron Melchet, who appeared to be sitting with some difficulty, and had a red silk cushion on the chair seat underneath him.  
  
Captain Renfrow entered the gallery, dressed in his most formal attire. He was followed closely by several of his men, and Baron Mullins. Mullins acknowledged the Greys with a nod, and at the request of Melchet, took a seat with him towards the front of the gallery. Almost immediately their heads leaned together, and a whispered conversation began. Mullins man Latham, who had quietly slipped into the room, found himself a place to the left.  
  
Bickmore called for a recess, and requested a bowl of fruit be brought to his bench. A bowl of mixed fruit was fetched, and he picked through the grapes, strawberries and other items till he found a fully red ripe apple. He then sat in front of the gallery and ate it.  
  
Just outside the courtroom was a cramped, windowless corner where the prisoners were kept till it was their time to appear. Purdy sat on a wobbly stool, the Friar by his side. "Pray for me Friar," whispered Purdy, grasping desperately onto the Friar's craggy hands. "But hear me Friar, I beseech thee, do not pray for my mortal soul. For it has been long since corrupted beyond restoration. Pray for my freedom."  
  
The Friar grasped Purdy's hands tightly. "I shall pray for both. For a soul is never lost.although they do become misplaced on occasion."  
  
It took at least a full five minutes for Bickmore to finish his apple. He then tossed the core into a silver urn that sat on the floor to his right. He snapped his fingers and moist towels were presented. He wiped his hands. When satisfied that all the juice had been cleaned away he called the court back into order.  
  
Purdy was brought from behind a curtain. He was manacled at both his hands and feet. He struggled free of the guards, insisting he could walk on his own. His arm flailed outwards, knocking the bowl of fruit from the bench to the floor. He stooped to pick it up, and began piling the fruit back into the bowl. The guards collected him roughly, and dragged him away. With a respectful nod to the judge, his attendant (who had earlier brought the moist towel), put the bowl back onto the bench.  
  
Purdy was led into the dock. He stared back into the gallery towards the Greys, a plaintive look upon his face.  
  
The Friar had slipped into the gallery next to Eleanor, and she took his hand, holding it tightly.  
  
Bickmore banged his gavel to calm the gallery, which had worked itself up into a great fury at the sight of Purdy. Even the peasants who had before sat in an almost overpowering silence began to talk amongst themselves.  
  
Bickmore cleared his throat and warned the gallery that he would have no more outbursts.  
  
The list of charges was read, and the gallery was asked who amongst them would stand and confront the accused.  
  
Captain Renfrow stood. Baron Melchet stood. Mullins stood.  
  
"Well then," said Bickmore, "We can begin."  
  
The lesser of the charges was read again, and Mullins was brought out of the gallery to bear witness.  
  
"Your Lordship, members of the court, witnesses," he began, and turned to Purdy. A droll grin lit up and passed. "I bring to your attention evidence to prove the charges that I have brought to this court against the accused." He pointed to Purdy, still standing, in chains, in the dock.  
  
Mullins went on to recount his story of the poached deer, the chase, capture, and subsequent rescue of the accused by the Greys.  
  
After Mullins finished, Melchet was brought up to detail the attack on his person. Hid did so nervously, and quietly. Several times he was asked by Bickmore to speak up so that the gallery could hear him.  
  
Finally, Captain Renfrow spoke to the court.  
  
The horse was in a state of panic, surrounded by several of the Captain's guardsmen. The man who called himself Purdy approached them.  
  
"That is my horse. You have no business with him. Get back before he crushes you into a fine powder."  
  
Renfrow turned, and seeing that it was Purdy, drew his sword. He had to scream to be heard over the din. "I thought I warned you to get out of here! You're under arrest! In the name of the King, put down your weapon!"  
  
Purdy shook his head.  
  
Renfrow repeated his request for Purdy to un-arm himself several times. He felt the blood rush into his face as he screamed orders between Purdy and his men, who were still trying to corral the wild stallion.  
  
Two more guards approached, and as they did, Renfrow turned to advise them to dismount and take defensive positions. As he did so he felt movement to his rear, and from the corner of his eye saw Purdy advancing, his sword raised.  
  
He ducked past the blow, and pushed Purdy out of the way. A second guard attacked, but was fought off, and pushed to the ground. He had undoubtedly at this time been wounded, as he did not rise back up again. This was the man who would later die of gangrene.  
  
Purdy turned his attention back to Renfrow, attacking with an even greater force, all the while screaming like a banshee. Renfrow drew his sword and defended himself against the attack. It was dark, and his foot landed in a puddle of rainwater, causing him to slip and fall. Purdy jumped on top of him, and began to beat him with his fists. They fought hand to hand, rolling over and over in the mud. Renfrow was overpowered, and knocked unconscious by a blow to the head. When he came to, several of his men lay unconscious. Purdy was gone.  
  
"That is a lie. It is all a lie!" yelled Purdy from the dock. "I never hurt that man."  
  
The gallery erupted with a chorus of catcalls. Bickmore pounded his gavel. "You will get your turn to speak," he said. "Silence in the gallery or I shall clear the room!"  
  
Bickmore called for another recess. He did not leave the bench, but called for his attendant to bring him ale. As the room quieted, he ate some berries out of the bowl. He had never seen berries of that kind before, but found them very juicy.  
  
He called the room to order, and gazed out the window at the waning daylight. "I do believe that we have heard enough evidence and I shall now render my verdict."  
  
"NO!" screamed Purdy from the dock. "I am allowed to speak! It is the law!"  
  
"You be quiet," said Bickmore waving his gavel at Purdy. "You speak when I tell you to speak. How dare you tell me the law? You murderer.you common criminal!"  
  
"This is not a trial! This is a mockery," said Armus, rising from his seat, and running to the front of the gallery. "This man has every right to defend himself. You must let him speak."  
  
"And who are you?" asked Bickmore.  
  
"I am Armus Grey, and I can attest to the good character of this man."  
  
"Can you now?" said Bickmore, matter-of-factly.  
  
"Your Lordship, may I speak?"  
  
Bickmore pursed his lips. This man he knew. "Yes, Sir Thomas, what is it? But please, be brief."  
  
"This man has been charged with very serious crimes. A man has died. But there is some doubt, enough doubt.about his part in these crimes, that I implore you to let him speak."  
  
"This day has been most disconcerting," said Bickmore after a moment. "As the time has gotten late, I feel it best to continue these proceedings tomorrow," he sighed. "At which time the accused shall have the opportunity to defend himself, in whichever manner he feels appropriate. Court is dismissed."  
  
In the right light, she might almost be beautiful, thought Purdy. Young, with a solid build, perfect for making heirs. Not that he had any need for them. What could a failed man such as he give to them? A few stolen coins. Poached mutton.  
  
She was speaking. Eleanor Grey did an inordinate amount of speaking. More than most women. Much more. Not that the visit was unwelcome, he had been alone in his cell for some time, and the only company he'd had was the Friar, and the guards who brought him his meals. He nodded in agreement to whatever statement she had made.  
  
"I know that tomorrow when you tell them your account, that the judge will have to see reason."  
  
"Yes," said Purdy absently. "I do hope that you are right. Dearest, beautiful Eleanor."  
  
She blushed bright red. Purdy reached his hand through the bars and touched her hair. The guard, standing just to her right pushed his hand away. "Ere, no touching."  
  
Another guard arrived, with a prisoner in tow. He was an older, long bearded man, who looked as if he had been in the dungeon for at least a decade. The cell was unlocked, and he was unceremoniously tossed in with Purdy. The cell was locked behind them.  
  
"Ah, companionship," said Purdy wryly.  
  
The old man took a seat on the stone floor, picked up a rat carcass and began to speak to it in low tones. "You a nice rat," he said to it, and then placed it to his ear to listen for a reply. He smiled as if he had received one, and began to caress its fur. "You be my friend, will you master?"  
  
The next day when court re-convened, the gallery was again full. A hush had fallen over the witnesses, as Duke Bickmore entered, as it was obvious at the start that something was not quite right. His usual lackluster demeanor had been replaced by an anxious, unsettled one. As a rivulet of sweat ran down the side of his face he mopped at it with a rag that was already soaked through. He coughed and wheezed as he called the room to order, which was not necessary as all eyes were already on him. Even the presence of the accused did not stir anyone from his or her gaze on the bench.  
  
"The accused shall now speak," was all he could manage to say before a fit of coughing overtook him.  
  
Purdy spoke only briefly on the poaching charge. He admitted to the crime, but noted that it had already been paid, with the seizure and auction of his horse. He was unable to defend himself against the charge by Baron Melchet, as there were witnesses. What he did wish to speak on was the murder of the guard. This, he stated, he did not do.  
  
Crown his horse whinnied. Purdy opened his eyes. The sky had grown dark and foreboding. The washerwoman was gone, having left his clothes folded neatly on the ground nearby. Purdy had no idea how long he'd been asleep. He threw on his shirt and vest, and ran to where Crown had been tied. He found the horse in a state of panic, surrounded by several guardsmen. He recognized one of them. The man was standing at a safe distance, barking out orders. Damn, Purdy thought. That sorry excuse for a guards Captain again. I'll just have to take care of this the hard way then.  
  
Purdy drew his sword, and approached, holding the weapon behind him. "That's my horse. You have no business with him. Get back before he crushes you into a fine powder."  
  
The Captain turned, and seeing that it was Purdy, drew his sword. He had to scream to be heard over the din. "I thought I warned you to get out of here! You're under arrest! In the name of the King, put down your weapon!"  
  
Purdy shook his head.  
  
The Captain repeated his request for Purdy to un-arm himself several times. Blood rushed into his face as he screamed orders between Purdy and his men, who were still trying to corral Crown.  
  
Purdy heard the sound of hooves behind him. He didn't know how many but guessed there to be at least a score, and he didn't think they were friendly. He extended his sword towards the Captain, and advanced.  
  
The Captain ran for cover, leaving Purdy in the hands of his guards. Several of them were still distracted by Crown. The horse was enacting a ploy they had used many times before. The one guard who was aware of Purdy attacked. Purdy shifted his weight and sticking out a foot tripped the man, who fell face first into the mud.  
  
He rose; eyes covered and staggered about until he tripped again, and fell unconscious. Captain Renfrow then emerged and came at him full force. Purdy accepted the challenge, and they wrestled to the ground. When finally Purdy tired of the games, he used the handle of his sword to knock the Captain unconscious. Just as he did this, the other guards had decided to give up the fight to corral Crown, and ran away.  
  
Purdy fought off two other guards, by overpowering them and knocking them unconscious. Meanwhile the guard who had been first defeated had risen. With his vision still blurred by the mud, he advanced on Crown, believing the horse to be Purdy. Extending his sword he lunged, missing his mark. Crown reared out of the way, as the guard slipped and fell. Crown dropped his front legs down, his right hoof landing on the leg of the guard, crushing it. Knowing that more guards were sure to arrive, Purdy mounted Crown and fled.  
  
"That is the biggest mound of drivel I have ever sat in judgment of," said Bickmore, with a wheeze. "I shall render my decision shortly," he said, recessing the court. This time he left the bench, his attendant in tow.  
  
When Duke Bickmore returned to the bench, his face had taken on a dusty pallor. He did not bang his gavel or ask for silence. He did not need to. All attention was again upon him.  
  
He cleared his throat, and in a weak voice that only the few people surrounding him could hear, rendered his verdict. He then stood to leave, and fell over the top of his desk, where he lay face down, unconscious. His attendant rushed to his side.  
  
The noise in the gallery was deafening. Had he rendered his verdict before he fell ill? What was the verdict? Is the man guilty or innocent?  
  
The Greys did not need to hear Duke Bickmore's words to know the outcome. They watched as Purdy was dragged away, in chains, by the guards. He called out to them at the top of his lungs. "I did not do it! I killed no one! I am innocent!"  
  
Chapter Seventeen: "Blind Trust"  
  
The silence in the kitchen could have been cut with a knife. Eleanor and Cedric watched as Richard and Armus ate their meals silently. A few times one of them had reached across the table to get another portion at the same moment as the other. Their hands would brush, causing them to shrink back from each other as if the contact would bring about some sort of sickness.  
  
Eleanor couldn't stand any more. "You two are acting like small children. Stop it now, please."  
  
Armus spoke first. "Every man should be given the right to redeem himself, and I think that he has."  
  
"I know you need to believe, brother, but you didn't see the look in his eyes. It was cold, lifeless. He wanted to kill Baron Melchet."  
  
"Wanting to kill someone and acting on that impulse are two different things, Richard. The fact that he didn't kill him says that he isn't the monster you think him to be."  
  
Richard put his head into his hands. "I can't believe you would take his word over mine. If the guards had not pulled him aside he would have killed him."  
  
"Never fear, Richard. Purdy no doubt will have his neck stretched by the next full moon. You'll have what you want."  
  
"I never said that is what I wanted."  
  
"You didn't have to."  
  
The clattering of a bowl on the floor broke into their argument.  
  
It was their father, red faced. Hands clasped tightly into fists at his side. The Friar stood just behind, mopping his brow nervously.  
  
"Armus. Richard. My chambers. Now!"  
  
Sir Thomas paced the length of his chamber, hands at the small of his back. Occasionally he would open his mouth to speak, and then close it again without a word. Finally he threw his hands in the air, in defeat.  
  
Richard and Armus knew this was not a good sign. They looked at each other silently. Armus hitched a shoulder.  
  
"How can you be so sure this man is who you say he is?"  
  
"That's what I want to know," said Richard.  
  
"Those stories I've been telling have a basis. I left out some details. They included a description of the man, and certain accounts of his exploits that were, how shall I say it.not so glorious."  
  
"You mean you left out the part where he turned into a thief, liar and murderer."  
  
Sir Thomas glared at Richard. "That will be more than enough of that. But to give you some credit I cannot put complete faith and trust this man either."  
  
Armus began to protest, but was silenced with a wave of his father's hand.  
  
"And since there is no proof one way or the other that he is Sir Rupert, and even if he was, this is surely not the same man who was once so revered." he stopped to silently fend off another protest ".So I would advise you Armus to not put so much of your confidence in him."  
  
"That is what I said."  
  
Sir Thomas turned to Richard. "And you stop making such an ass of yourself. You've upset the whole house, and I won't stand for any more arguing. We all have to make the best of this situation, and I will be damned if I am going to allow our lives to continue to be turned upside down because of this one man."  
  
"What have you learned?" Mullins asked, with a carefully perfected and deceptive mask of boredom. He rummaged around his desktop and came up with a small, ornate silver mallet. He picked a walnut from a bowl, cracked open the shell with the mallet, and examined its contents.  
  
"Begging your pardon, but I have no information for you of any consequence."  
  
"Let me decide what is of consequence."  
  
"As you wish," Baron William Melchet of Gippeswyc replied, with a grand sweep of his arm, which was the inappropriate protocol for an informal meeting of this sort. Yet ever since Melchet had discovered that Mullins enjoyed formalities, he'd taken the opportunity to use them at every possible turn. Melchet himself despised them, but these were the rules of engagement. Give a little. Take a little.  
  
"I have discovered that there was indeed a man, a knight, of the name Botkesham. His whereabouts are unknown, but rumors have it he was murdered by Saracens."  
  
"And Melchet, what is this man's lineage?"  
  
"Undetermined...Mullins," said Melchet taking the cue to speak informally. The barely detectable sideways glare he received changed his mind. He took a deep breath. "Some say he is the son of Herman Botkesham, who was possibly a Duke, but I don't believe this to be the truth."  
  
"I'll be damned," Mullins cracked open another walnut, and held it out to Melchet who declined by a shake of his head. "Where do all these tales come from? Hmmm, I wonder what they'll be saying about me when I'm dead."  
  
Melchet stifled a smile. "I haven't a clue. No doubt it shall be no less than magnificent."  
  
"Yes, I suppose it would be," replied Mullins, first with a smile, and then a sneer. His eyes narrowed. "I don't like you yet. You'd be wise to watch your tongue."  
  
"No disrespect meant, of course," said Melchet his insincerity showing.  
  
Mullins laughed. "No, of course not. What else do you have for me?"  
  
At the back of his mind, Melchet felt a small twinge of regret. To supply Mullins with information was an affront to Duke Emmersely's alliance with Thomas Grey. But the twinge was just that. A small momentary dalliance with his conscience. It soon faded. Any alliance, (however tenuous) was beneficial, but a fat purse was even better. He also knew a refusal meant a sworn enemy and this was not one he wished to have.  
  
"Just that the Greys have frequently visited Purdy in the King's dungeon. All of them."  
  
"A conspiracy?"  
  
"Undetermined. But I've set one of my best men to keep an eye out, and report back at the first hint of trouble."  
  
"Very good, Melchet," the bored smile returned. "I think you and I shall both benefit greatly from our little alliance."  
  
"I do hope so."  
  
"Yes, of course you do."  
  
The odor from the old man's collection of dead rats was overpowering. Purdy begged the guard to remove the man, the rats or both from his cell but was denied. This was not a cozy inn, but a dungeon.  
  
Purdy paced the cell. He had to find some way out. He examined the walls for what must have been the hundredth time. He had escaped from worse places.he promised the guard one of his stories later, if he disposed of the rats. The guard considered this, and advised he would see what he could do, if the story was a fine one.  
  
Purdy sat on the floor next to the cell gate. He began to weave a tale of great adventure, and bravery. The guard sat rapt, from his place near the corridor gate. Every so often he would nod, laugh or grunt his approval at the unfolding details. Purdy had almost reached the climax when he was interrupted by the squeal of the hinges on the outer gate. It opened and closed. There would be a visitor. From the estimated time of day, Purdy guessed it would be Armus.  
  
The visitor entered, but it was not Armus. To Purdy's great surprise he found himself face to face with Richard.  
  
"Hello, Richard. It's wonderful to see you. You have no idea how lonely I have been here by myself with no company, save for the visits from your kind family and of course the Friar."  
  
Richard stared back at Purdy hard. "I didn't come here for pleasantries. I came to tell you that my family will not be visiting you any more. Nor will the Friar."  
  
"But your family has been the only lightness for me in these darkest of my hours. I have so very little time left. Please allow me these smallest of pleasures. One more visit please?"  
  
"No. I won't allow it."  
  
"And what does your father have to say of this? And Armus?"  
  
Richard balked. "That is none of your business. I didn't have to come here to tell you this, I could have left you to rot in this dungeon without knowing why."  
  
Purdy pressed his face against the metal gate. "But you couldn't do that, now could you Richard Grey. You had to come here and see me suffer. You enjoy it. You revel in it. You never liked me. You never trusted me, did you? I saved your life and this is how you repay your debt? May you burn in hell Richard Gray."  
  
Richard stood silent, then turned to leave. He spoke with his back turned to the cell. "If I shall burn, I shall see you there, for you most certainly will be there waiting."  
  
Richard stormed out of the corridor, and the gate clanked shut behind him. He started towards the outer gate and stopped. That was not how he had envisioned the moment. He did not mean to say those horrible things, but upon seeing that man again, the words just tumbled out. He turned back and approached the corridor gate. He heard voices from the other side.  
  
The guard was speaking. "Finish your story, man. Come on I'm waiting."  
  
The next voice belonged to Purdy. "Where did I leave off? Oh yes, the man found himself in a clearing. The soldiers were a day's ride behind, so he felt comfortable making a camp and resting for the night. In the morning, he realized that the soldiers would keep chase, and he would have to deter them somehow.  
  
So he destroyed all trace of his camp, and using the stolen tools he dug a hole. A deep hole in the clearing. When it was dug he covered it with branches and leaves that matched the ground cover of the rest of the clearing. He then tracked back into the forest and left an obvious trail for the soldiers and their dogs to track. The trail led right to the edge of the hole. His perfect trap..."  
  
Richard found himself trembling. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to regain control. What did it all mean?  
  
Chapter Eighteen: "Awakenings"  
  
"That was a fine story," said the guard, piling his supper into his mouth. It was a thick mutton broth, and Purdy could smell it all from the way across the corridor. He had not yet had his usual supper of a crust of bread and an un-cooked egg. His stomach protested.  
  
"How about getting these rats out of here? You are going to keep your word?"  
  
"What word? I've said nothing," the guard laughed and stuffed a piece of buttered bread into his mouth. He spoke with it full, and pieces of bread spat out as he did so. "You'll get to like the rats, like that old fool. If you live that long."  
  
"How about my supper then?"  
  
The guard pondered that. "That you can have." He cut the end off the bread, and placed it on a dirty metal platter. He wandered to the window, under which a basket sat. He plucked and egg from the same pile he had been feeding the prisoners from for nearly a week. The eggs were foul. He sniffed at the one in his hand and recoiled from the odor. "You fancy this? I think it turned."  
  
Purdy shook his head. "Just the bread, if you please, friend."  
  
The guard snorted. "I am not your friend, any more than the executioner who shall stretch your neck the day after tomorrow."  
  
Purdy balked at that news. "Two days? I go to the gallows in two days?"  
  
"That is what I hear. Poor devil." He approached the cell and pushed the platter with the crust of bread on it through the opening.  
  
Purdy grabbed at his outstretched hand. "Please, I can pay you. Just let me out of here. You shall be a very rich man."  
  
"And then I will be the King of England. Let loose my hand."  
  
Purdy clamped his grip down harder. "I'm sad to say friend, that I cannot do that."  
  
With the other hand he used the platter to knock the guards helmet off. He released his grip and while the guard bent to retrieve the helmet, Purdy pummeled him over the back of the head with it. He reached out and grabbed the stunned guard by the neck and with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could. With the guard out of breath, he was able to yank him back towards the cell gate, smashing the man's head into the metal, knocking him out cold.  
  
Purdy picked the man's pocket of his keys, and let himself out of the cell. He undressed the man, and himself. After exchanging clothes, he dragged the guard to the back of the cell and faced him towards the wall.  
  
He put on the helmet, pulling it down low over his eyes. He exited the cell, and locked it behind him. Going to the window and grabbing the basket of eggs, he approached the gate. "I got to replace these eggs, they've gone off."  
  
The other guard looked at him suspiciously, but opened the gate. Purdy walked from the dungeon, and out to the court. He was free.  
  
After tying the horses, Armus, Eleanor & Cedric went on foot to the castle. They followed the musty corridors down to the dungeon where Purdy was being kept. They had heard of the decision to hang Purdy for the murder of the guardsman, and had rushed to Berkley Castle. They had searched for Richard first, of course, just in the case that he too might wish to make the journey, but he was no where to be found. Grahame Dougherty had seen him ride off earlier, but did not know where he had gone.  
  
They entered the dungeon, and found the first guard asleep. They woke him roughly and asked to see Purdy. He called out to the guard on the other end of the corridor to announce that visitors were arriving, but he did not get a reply. Perplexed, he opened the gate and motioned for the visitors to enter.  
  
"I'll let you in myself," he said, and started down the corridor. "He must not be back with the eggs yet," the guard explained, when the other guard was found to be absent. He scratched his head. He went to put the key into the lock, and the gate swung open.  
  
"What?" cried the guard. He pulled his sword and crept into the cell. Weapons drawn, Armus, Cedric & Eleanor followed.  
  
The door to the Purdy's cell was locked, and two men were inside, both asleep. The guard sighed in relief. "Here is your murdering friend. Say your last farewells, he hasn't long." He unlocked the cell.  
  
Armus entered, and kneeled down beside the sleeping Purdy. He shook him, but there was no response. He rolled him over to look at his face.  
  
Richard stormed through the gate, dismounted and handed the reins to one of the stable boys. Usually he would stop to chat, but this day he was distracted. There was little time to waste. Yet he did not know where to start. Across the courtyard three of the stable hands were loading one of the horses into a cart. The horse was down. Not moving.  
  
"What happened?" he asked of Grahame Dougherty.  
  
"The horse came over all ill, and died. We don't know why, Lord Richard. He was eating, was fine as the day he was born. And then he started, got all excited, and went off his feet. We had to put him down. Might be the rabies we thought."  
  
"What did he last eat?"  
  
"Oh that is the strange part. We found these, in the cart, beneath one of the bags of flour. He was eating these, I don't know why, they've gone all rotten." He showed Richard a pile of dark berries. They had been in the sun and were as Grahame had said rotten. Richard knew exactly where they had come from.  
  
He raced inside the castle, and up the flights of stairs to the room in which Purdy had been kept. It had been wholly cleaned. He tore the room apart. He pulled the blankets from the bed, the tapestries from the wall. He emptied the ashes from the fireplace and sifted through them with his bare hands. He took the candles from the walls, and broke them into pieces. Where was it? What was it? What was he so intent on finding? He did not know but it was in this room. He could feel it. He continued to search.  
  
The alarm sounded.  
  
Damn, thought Purdy. I need more time. More time. I have to get out of here. Still dressed as a guard, and blending in with the crowds, he looked around for a way to escape. He found an unattended horse, and approaching it cautiously, mounted it.  
  
"You there! What are you doing? Stop! Thief!" A young, noble ran towards him, and with a strength that you would not imagine from his stature, pulled Purdy from the horse. "Thief! Guards! Stop Thief!"  
  
Purdy grappled with the boy, kicking and scratching at him, until he loosened his grip. Purdy ran off for the gates on foot. He could hear the horns and the soldiers right on his heels. The gates were only a short distance away. He saw the men on either side, turning the pulleys that would close the gates, and end his fight for freedom. He reached the gate just as the jaws were about to close. He hurled himself on the ground, and rolled underneath.  
  
"Open the gates! Open them, he's getting away!" The guards mounted their horses as the gates were lifted. They rode through in lines of two. At least twenty men, and more were on the way.  
  
Armus watched helplessly as they spilled out onto the road, and into the surrounding forest in search of the escaped murderer.  
  
"We have to do something," he said aloud, to no one in particular.  
  
Cedric took his elbow. "No," was all he said.  
  
Exhausted and defeated Richard sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. He put his head in his hands.  
  
He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep the tears from flowing. Was he wrong? Was it all co-incidence? Where was his proof? He looked to the ceiling, eyes closed, and prayed. No answers came to him.  
  
He stood, and started for the door. The light was shining in through the stained glass of the window. He noticed a crack in the glass he had not known was there. The light shining through it created a prism effect on the wall that he might have found pleasing at any other time. The wind blew against the ivy that grew up the castle wall, breaking a shadow through the prism and sending a shaft of light to the floor. His eyes instinctively followed the light. He saw a glint of something under the bed. Retracing his steps he crawled under the bed and searched for the source. His hand met with a small object. It was a candle.  
  
Disappointed, he crawled out from under the bed. He looked at the object in his hand. He stared at it silently, then dropped it, and ran from the room.  
  
Lying on the floor in the now empty room was a lump of candle wax, carved into the shape of a key.  
  
Chapter Nineteen: "Lost And Found"  
  
In the hours that followed, Armus, Cedric and Eleanor searched without success for Purdy. He was not to be found in any of the villages, along the trails, or in any of the places that he would be familiar with in the area, and be likely to seek shelter. Against better judgment, and the insistence from Cedric that they speed up their pace, they continued to search. They did not deviate from their path towards home, but stopped frequently along the way in hopes that there might be some word. As they reached the edge of the moors, it was apparent that they should call off their search, and continue on the rest of the way home without delay. He would not be so daring as to return to Covington Cross, would he?  
  
Richard had searched the entire grounds for his brothers and sister. They were no where to be found. He questioned several of the servants and found that they had left for Berkley castle but had not been seen since. As the time passed a knife-like pain grew in the pit of his stomach. Something was amiss.  
  
He ran out the front door and towards the stables. On the way he passed the Friar who waved towards him frantically. "Richard! Your father wishes to see you.now!"  
  
The soldiers were not far behind him now. There would be no time to steal a horse, or to set a trap. He would have to find sanctuary, and quickly. He willed himself into a deep calm. He breathed the damp air deeply, sucking it into his lungs hungrily. His pulse slowed. His heart ceased its vicious thumping within his chest. The thoughts became clearer. Ideas began to flow. He could see them now, like a play performing to an audience within his mind.  
  
He was the main actor, the hero, always a hero when these thoughts came to him. The hero that no one suspected was not what he seemed. He could play himself. He could play someone else. Anyone he wanted. Become them, at the drop of a hat, as it suited him.  
  
The thought he avoided, the one he did not like crept into his consciousness. Who was he really? He was not sure that he remembered any longer. That time was so long ago. He brushed it away, allowing himself a little moment of joy. He smiled to himself, as a kind of self- congratulatory pat on the back.  
  
The idea struck him like a lightning bolt. It was a gamble, but his only chance of survival. Where is the last place they would look? Purdy crawled further into the brush, and headed towards Covington Cross.  
  
"They found him! They found him!" cried Melchet, breathlessly as he descended from his carriage.  
  
"Found who?" growled Mullins.  
  
"Him!" hissed Melchet, in a conspiratorial whisper.  
  
"You are too late," replied Mullins. "Purdy is being executed in two days. What matter is it now?"  
  
Melchet beamed, a gleam in his eye. He knew something that Mullins did not. "The scalawag Purdy escaped."  
  
"He WHAT?"  
  
Melchet shrank back. "He...er.oh.He beat a guard, took his clothing and escaped."  
  
"Damn. Where is he now?"  
  
"Unknown, Baron. But it is assumed that he is far from here. He would not be so impertinent as to stay, knowing his fate if he is again apprehended."  
  
Mullins slapped a gloved hand down on Melchet's shoulder. "Where is.HE.now?"  
  
"Oh.er.coming by carriage, Baron. He should arrive any time now. The driver was directed to bring him straight here."  
  
"All right then," said Mullins, patting Melchet on the chest. "Well done."  
  
"Thank you My Lord Baron, I shall take my leave of you now."  
  
"No quite yet. Purdy is not far from here. If he is on foot, and with his capacities no doubt greatly diminished from his stay in the King's dungeon.. I can guarantee he is right under our noses. I need you to do something for me Baron Melchet." Mullins smiled with as much sincerity as he could muster. "You are going to take your letter from Duke Emmersely to Sir Thomas, and you are going to do that today. Right now."  
  
"But under the circumstances this would not be an appropriate time to discuss business."  
  
Mullins exploded. "You idiot! I don't give a damn about your business." He closed in and with his nose almost touching Melchet's, spoke in an icy tone. "I want you to go to Covington Cross and find out if the Greys are hiding Purdy."  
  
Eleanor sat hugging her knees to her chest on a stack of baled hay. She watched silently as Cedric and Armus argued over a map of the shire they'd drawn in the dirt. While Cedric insisted they had covered every possible hiding place, Armus was sure he knew of several others, and had marked their possible locations with stones. Eleanor wondered what it mattered, they were long overdue to return home, and it would shortly be dark. Going back out to search would be fruitless, and more trouble than it was worth. They were just going to have to forget, and in time they would. She attempted to remind her brothers they were due back, but they were far too busy to be bothered with her.  
  
"I'm going back, you can stay out here in the cold and argue all night for all I care," she told them, with a shrug of her shoulders. She wrinkled her brow in exasperation. Then laughed, as usual, over the constant competition between her brothers. She left them to their whims and ventured out into the stable yard.  
  
She plucked a handful of grass, and absent-mindedly split each blade into tiny strips, dropping the pieces back to the ground as she walked. She was soon far from the stable, but could still hear Cedric and Armus shouting at each other. Life would get back to normal, she thought. Much faster than she ever would have imagined.  
  
The smile faded from her lips as she reached the courtyard, and saw the carriage arrive. The last thing they needed was a visitor. Especially one she might be expected to entertain. Unless of course he was young and handsome. She examined her hands, with their dirty nails, and the fingertips now the same green as the blades of grass. She wiped her hands on her trousers, and only too late realized that the green stains would transfer. The visitor was likely to be a fat, dull old Noble, but she didn't want to take the chance. She would have to sneak in through the kitchen, and change clothes before anyone saw her. Just in case.  
  
Richard joined his father in his chambers. "Have they returned?"  
  
"Sit down Richard."  
  
"I don't want to sit down. Why must I sit?"  
  
Sir Thomas sighed. "You are not going to make this easy on me are you Richard?"  
  
The stabbing pains returned. He closed his eyes. "Please, just tell me."  
  
"Purdy escaped from the King's dungeon."  
  
Richard sat heavily, and then stood again. "We have to find them. They're in great danger."  
  
"Your brothers and sister can take care of themselves. And what danger could they face on the road between Berkeley Castle and here?"  
  
"Purdy."  
  
"Is long gone."  
  
"But you don't understand. I was up in his chambers, and I found."  
  
"Richard, I asked you to not do this. Do not tear this family apart over your dislike of this man. Please." Richard was defeated. He knew there was nothing he could say that would sway his father's opinion. He nodded. "Yes, father."  
  
Sir Thomas managed a smile. "Good. Unfortunately this is not the only bad news that I have. You and I have other matters to address. Lord Emmersely has sent an emissary to complete the business transaction that you initiated," he raked a hand through his beard, and rolled his eyes. "It's Baron Melchet."  
  
"You're joking!" Richard sat again.  
  
"I only wish that I was. He just arrived by carriage. Un-announced I might add.and is expecting an audience with you and I. We must tend to him.as best we can."  
  
Eleanor headed back to the kitchen door. She tried the handle. It was locked. She knocked but received no reply. No doubt those two are off someplace gossiping again, she thought, and pounded on the door with both fists.  
  
The door opened, and she was met by one of the cook's helpers, looking disheveled and guilty. Eleanor had no time for gossip, and headed to her chambers, easily avoiding the main rooms by using hidden corridors that only the Greys knew about. She washed her hands and face, and changed into a clean pair of trousers. She considered a dress, but decided it would appear too obvious. Besides, the material scratched at her skin.  
  
She retraced her steps back downstairs. They led her back to the kitchen. Someone had left the door open. She went to close it. It was now growing dark, and the crickets had begun their nightly serenade. Frogs from the nearby pond were croaking, calling to each other in their own strange language. She listened to the sounds for a moment, but thought she heard something else amongst the familiar noise. She stepped out into the night, closing the door behind her. "Armus? Cedric? Is that you?"  
  
A twig snapped. Before she could turn, a hand placed itself over her mouth.  
  
"Baron Melchet, how wonderful to see you. Thank you for coming." Sir Thomas extended his hand. Melchet had been led into the hall, and had made himself very comfortable by the fire. Feet up, a goblet of wine in his hand. He did not stand. Sir Thomas moved closer and extended the hand again. Melchet took it, shaking it weakly.  
  
"You remember my son, Richard?"  
  
"Yes, I do. Nasty business at Berkeley Castle, was it not?" asked Melchet with a wrinkle of his nose.  
  
Richard did not reply. He took the farthest seat from Melchet as he could find. He stared at his father, arms crossed, eyes dull.  
  
Sir Thomas gave his son a 'remember your manners' look, and seated himself just across from Melchet.  
  
He attempted to make small talk, about the weather and local gossip, but Melchet was not interested. He peered around the room, looking into corners, but for what Sir Thomas did not know. He also tried to steer the conversation towards the events earlier in the day at Berkeley Castle. He asked question after question about it.  
  
"You have other children do you not, Sir Thomas?"  
  
"Where are they? Will they be joining us for supper?"  
  
"Did they travel to Berkeley Castle today?"  
  
"You did hear that the murderer Purdy escaped?"  
  
"He stayed here for a time, did he not?"  
  
Sir Thomas answered the questions as best he could, but his patience soon wore thin. He offered supper to Melchet hoping the lure of food would allow for a change of subject. It did.  
  
Eleanor struggled for release, but the arms around her were too strong. She found herself dragged along, her feet just barely touching the ground. She was taken behind a tall hedge.  
  
"Don't scream," said a man's voice. "I'm going to take my hand from your mouth. Don't scream, please Eleanor."  
  
She was released, and wheeled around to face her captor. "Purdy! What are you doing here?" she gasped, out of breath. Her heart pounded in her ears. "Don't answer that. It was a stupid question." She avoided his eyes. "Why did you come back?"  
  
"I had no where else to go. You were so kind to me, you believed me. You still do, don't you Eleanor?"  
  
"I don't.think.you did all.all those horrible things."  
  
Purdy took her hand. "You are so kind, and beautiful. If only."  
  
Eleanor found herself blushing again. He always could say things to make her feel like a silly girl. She looked into his eyes, and thought, not for the first time, of his lips on hers. He did not, and the moment passed. He dropped her hand.  
  
"I must escape. I've must flee."  
  
"I know, but they'll be looking for you."  
  
"You could...no. Never mind that. I shouldn't have come," he turned to leave. "I was just so weary."  
  
"We could hide you here," Eleanor ventured. "At least till tomorrow, when you're stronger."  
  
Purdy stopped in his tracks, his back to her. "I couldn't ask that of you. You've done far too much. Risked far too much for me already."  
  
"Yes we have," said Armus.  
  
"But for some reason, I feel the need to assist you again. I believe in you. In believe in what you used to be, and I know you can be that man again." Armus reached out a hand to Purdy.  
  
A tear welled in Purdy's eye. "I should only be half the man that you are my friend." They hugged. "What is your plan?"  
  
"Well, I haven't quite thought of a plan yet. Let's get inside where it's warmer."  
  
They walked back to the kitchen door, and knocked. This time the cook, who gave Purdy an icy stare, greeted them.  
  
They hurried out into the corridor. "She won't speak of this?"  
  
Armus patted Purdy on the back. "I'll persuade her to hold her tongue."  
  
Purdy fixed him with an odd look. Eleanor chuckled and informed him that the cook was very fond of Armus. Very fond.  
  
They continued down the corridor till they reached the wall that adjoined the dining room. They heard voices. Eleanor leaned against the wall, eyes wide, with a hand to her mouth. She spoke in a low tone, through her fingers. "I'd almost forgot we have a guest."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Someone ought to find out," said Armus, looking at Cedric.  
  
Cedric paled. "Me? I'm not good at sneaking about. I always get caught." He backed up a few paces. "You remember what happened with the miller's daughter. I fell right off that roof into the trough. Got all wet. I think it's better if you go."  
  
Armus took Cedric by the shoulder and pushed him forward. "And be quiet about it."  
  
Cedric was gone only a moment, returning with his face even paler than it had been when he left. "It's Baron Melchet."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes. With father and Richard."  
  
"I've got to get out of here," said Purdy.  
  
"More wine?" asked Sir Thomas. Melchet had already had three goblets full, and his face had taken on a rosy glow. They had not yet gotten to the business at hand, though he could see a letter poking its way out of the pocket on Melchet's tunic.  
  
Richard was staring at the fire. He had not said a word since Melchet had arrived. Every question that Melchet posed regarding Purdy and the events at Berkeley deepened the frown on his son's face. The change of subject to food had not worked for long, and Melchet was again inquiring about Purdy.  
  
"He wouldn't dare to come here would he? Do you think he would Sir Thomas? What about you Richard? What do you think?"  
  
Richard's gaze snapped from the fire to Melchet. He pondered the question for a moment before speaking. His scorn for the Noble was obvious. "I should hope for your sake Baron, that he is not nearby. No doubt he should want for more revenge. And no doubt he would be successful."  
  
"Richard." Sir Thomas warned.  
  
Melchet dropped his goblet. A servant that had been standing by rushed to his side to clean the mess. Melchet stood, and paced in front of the fire nervously. "And you would allow him to lay his filthy blood soaked hands on me? I am of un-questionable Nobility."  
  
Richard stared hard at his father, and then at Melchet. He lightened his demeanor, smiling for the first time. "I would not. I am not an admirer of that man. You asked if I believed he would return here. I proffered my opinion."  
  
"More wine?" asked Sir Thomas, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
Eleanor still had the hand to her mouth. "What now?"  
  
"The best place to hide Purdy is in the dungeon.they'd never think to look there. We can't get there from here. We'll have to pass through the main hall. But we can't."  
  
"I have an idea," said Cedric, and made a sour face at the rolling eyes of his brother and sister. "Just listen. Eleanor, you keep Melchet occupied and we'll sneak Purdy downstairs and hide him there till Melchet leaves."  
  
"Why do I have to be the one to keep him busy?"  
  
"I don't think either of us would be to his liking," said Armus.  
  
Eleanor bristled. "You want me to. with him?!?"  
  
"You don't have to court him, just distract him for a few moments."  
  
"Oh all right."  
  
"We'll wait here till you clean up. Hurry. Come right back."  
  
"I already cleaned up," she said through clenched teeth.  
  
"And you look wonderful," said Cedric with a sideways glance at Armus. "But you would look even more beautiful in a dress. Preferably one with a low bodice."  
  
"You look lovely," said Purdy, eyes traveling down the low neckline of the dress she had changed into.  
  
"I feel like a fool," Eleanor replied, more embarrassed than angry. She pulled at the shoulders and waistline, shifting the folds of the material from side to side. She could not get comfortable. Cedric would pay for this later. Pay dearly.  
  
Armus pulled her hands down, and patted down a stray lock of her hair. "You look beautiful."  
  
"Eleanor! There you are!" Sir Thomas went to his daughter who had appeared from nowhere, and hugged her tightly. "You had us worried sick. Where have you been?"  
  
"We went to Berkeley Castle. I'm sure you've heard." she cast a glance at Richard, "There was quite a commotion, and the guards were checking everyone for Purdy. They wouldn't let anyone leave."  
  
Sir Thomas nodded understanding. "Well it is good to have you home safe and sound. Where are your brothers?"  
  
"They went to.change clothes for dinner. We were all quite dusty and word from our long trip."  
  
"Yes of course," replied Sir Thomas. "How rude of me, I must introduce you to our honored supper guest," he said motioning to Baron Melchet with a pained look on his face.  
  
Eleanor was already acutely aware of Baron Melchet to her left, staring at her intently. She curtseyed, and extended her hand. "Baron, how nice of you to come."  
  
"It is I who feels the honor," Melchet replied, kissing her hand. His eyes traveled up her arm, to her neck, then her bodice.  
  
Eleanor pulled her hand away, and stood straight. She self-consciously raised a hand to her bodice, covering the exposed area of skin.  
  
A servant arrived with the first course, and they sat down to eat. Richard took a place next to Eleanor, who had placed herself as far from Melchet as she could.  
  
"So where are they?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I told you, cleaning up for supper."  
  
"It never takes Cedric this long to do anything if food is involved. Where are they really?" He did not wait for her to answer. "He's here isn't he?"  
  
Eleanor hesitated one second too long.  
  
Richard slammed his fists on the table.  
  
The Sheriff emerged from his chambers, dressed only in a floor length robe. He wore no shoes. His appearance was disheveled. He frowned, the wrinkles framing his eyes severely. "Baron, I have had just about enough of you. My men will search for Purdy until they find him, you can rest assured of that." his words trailed off as he noticed the unfamiliar man waiting just outside his door. "In the name of the King, who is that?!?"  
  
Mullins gestured silently for the man to step forward and proceeded with the introductions.  
  
"I'll be damned," said the Sheriff. He grabbed his trousers, a shirt, and quickly dressed.  
  
"Sorry father," said Richard, "There was a fly."  
  
Sir Thomas looked dubious but accepted the explanation for his son's outburst. He shifted his attention back to Melchet. "Do you have any children? My family has given me so much joy."  
  
Richard and Eleanor exchanged glances.  
  
Melchet took no notice. He was busy examining every corner of the room when he thought no one was looking. "I was never blessed as to have any sons. My wife bore me a single daughter. As radiant as the sun. But she pales in comparison to the vision of loveliness the heavens have bestowed upon you."  
  
Eleanor sighed.  
  
"We are never going to get him past father," said Cedric, continuing to gripe as they waited for the right moment to move out of their hiding spot behind the tapestry. He tugged at the frayed end of his belt. The buckle had a sharp edge that always caught against his clothes. "We'll get caught. Father will disown us for sure."  
  
Armus had lost patience, and cuffed his ear. "Be quiet Cedric."  
  
"That was uncalled for," replied Cedric, ever petulant. He put a hand to the ear.  
  
"Hush!" said Armus. "Do you want them to catch us?"  
  
"No, I don't," muttered Cedric under his breath. "I was just saying that wasn't I?"  
  
"Can we proceed?" asked Purdy. He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. He began to wonder if returning had been the right choice. He might have been safer in out in the open.  
  
The party had moved from the dining room back to the main hall, and the fire. The conversation had turned to business and Sir Thomas had finally gotten the letter of confirmation. He and Richard had put their heads together to discuss it.  
  
Melchet and Eleanor were nearby, sharing a carafe of ale. Melchet was quite obviously intoxicated, and not just from the effects of the wine.  
  
"Your lovely sister has done a wonderful job distracting him."  
  
"She has her charms," remarked Armus, with a wink. He peered out from the behind the tapestry. Melchet's chair was empty. Eleanor waved frantically towards him and pointed down the other corridor. "Time to move. Melchet has gone to the privy."  
  
They crept forward, first Armus, then Purdy. Cedric came last. He replaced the bottom edge of the tapestry in front of the opening as he passed through. They crouched in the shadows silently. Richard and father were at the table, their backs turned. Armus got on all fours and crawled along the wall. Purdy followed. Cedric checked to be sure that he was not seen and joined them. Something pulled him back. His belt had caught on the edge of the tapestry. He yanked at the belt to pry it loose. It was no use, he was stuck.  
  
Armus and Purdy had almost made it from the room to the other corridor, and Melchet would be returning from the privy any second. He pulled on his belt, with all his strength.  
  
The tapestry gave way, and fell from the wall, landing on the floor on top of Cedric.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" bellowed Sir Thomas. He glared into the guilty faces of his children. "What is he doing here in my castle?"  
  
Purdy stood at the mouth of the corridor, expressions of surprise, anger and fear crossing his face all at the same time.  
  
"He came to us for help, father," began Armus. "I will take full responsibility for any repercussions. I talked Cedric into helping me. Eleanor and Richard had nothing to do with this."  
  
Sir Thomas did not believe him, but that did not matter at the moment. Sir Thomas knew he had to act quickly, and carefully. "Never mind," he said to Armus. "We must get Purdy away from here right away. The guard are searching every inch of the county, and no doubt they will be here before long."  
  
"Father!" cried Richard.  
  
Sir Thomas cringed. This was not going to be easy, but it had to be done.  
  
"Thank you, Sir Thomas," said Purdy coming father into the room. "You are indeed a wise and learned man."  
  
"I am only doing what I have to do," replied Sir Thomas.  
  
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Baron Melchet, returning from the privy, with the Friar in tow. Both wore surprised looks on their faces. Melchet shook his handkerchief in the air as he spoke. "It is the murderer. Someone call for the guard!"  
  
"Be quiet, you pathetic man," said Purdy. He swiped a hand at Melchet, and the palm landed against Melchet's chin. A small cut opened, and bled. Melchet put his handkerchief to his face and cried out pitifully. He stepped backwards, bumping into the hearth. He fell, landing hard on his bottom. A cloud of soot rose into the air.  
  
"See?" said Richard, "Why won't you listen to me? The man is insane! It was all planned. Every bit of it. Every moment. He had a key to get out of his chambers. He carved it in wax. He stabbed that guard, and left him to die. He poisoned Duke Bickmore." Richard lunged at Purdy. Armus grabbed his brother around the chest, dragging him away. Richard struggled to free himself. "Let me go Armus!"  
  
"How could I have done any of those things?" Purdy asked defiant. "I was under constant watch. When would I have had the opportunity? Someone surely would have seen." He glanced at Armus, who looked away.  
  
The exchange did not pass by Sir Thomas. "Armus what do you know of this?"  
  
Armus hesitated. "Nothing, father."  
  
"He's lying!"  
  
"Richard!" Sir Thomas gasped.  
  
"Tell him!" said Richard.  
  
Armus released his brother, and hung his head. He always knew there would be a time that he would have to speak of that night. Yet he could barely get the words out. "There was an instance, that I caught Purdy wandering the castle at night. I did not tell anyone.I did not wish to worry you father."  
  
Sir Thomas stared at his sons, his mouth a straight line. Now was the time. He had run out of options. They had to get Purdy away from Covington Cross and into the hands of the King's guard. But he could not let on to Purdy what he was thinking. "We will have to have a very long talk about that later, Armus. Right now I want to talk to your brother. Richard, follow me."  
  
"Father, how can you not see? He snuck out at night. He dug that hole in the clearing! The one I fell in. He did it all, on purpose! He wanted to kill me!"  
  
The last statement was greeted with silent stares. Richard looked at the disbelieving faces of his family. He did not think he knew any of them any longer. "I don't understand! How can you take this murderer's word over mine? Have you all taken leave of your senses?"  
  
The front door swung open. Baron Mullins entered, followed by his man Latham, and a man that Sir Thomas did not recognize. "What is the meaning of this?"  
  
"This man has something to say." Mullins motioned to the stranger.  
  
"Which one did you say? There are many," asked the old man, in a high pitched, screechy voice.  
  
Mullins pointed to Purdy.  
  
The old man hobbled forward. He glanced at Purdy; eyes squinted almost to the point where they were shut. He turned back to Mullins. "What is this all about? Why do you bring me here for these follies! This is not my son!"  
  
Chapter Twenty: "The Truth"  
  
Armus and Cedric drew their swords.  
  
"What is this Baron?" asked Sir Thomas. "This had better not be another one of your tricks."  
  
"Not at all. May I introduce to you Duke Herman Botkesham," said Mullins triumphantly. "Whom I believe is the undisputed expert on the identity of his son, Sir Rupert Botkesham."  
  
"My son was said to have died ten years past," said the elder Botkesham. "It is just myself and his half sister Lydia now. And that is not my son. None of these are my son." He sat himself down at the table.  
  
Armus stepped forward. "But."  
  
Sir Thomas put a hand on his son's arm to steady him. He glared at Mullins. "Is this the truth, Baron?"  
  
"As sure as I stand here today, this man is who he says that he is. And that man is not. You've been had."  
  
"It can't be." said Armus.  
  
Sir Thomas put an arm around his son. "Your brother Richard, to whom we owe a great apology," he glanced at Richard, "Was correct all along. This man is a fraud, Armus, I'm sorry. I know you believed."  
  
Armus turned to Purdy. "Why? Why did you say you were Sir Rupert?"  
  
Purdy laughed. "I never said I was Sir Rupert. You did. I just never corrected you. My name is Purdy. Purdy Blankenship. I'm the bastard son of a Gloucester barmaid. But if you wanted to believe so badly that I was this strong and brave knight, and I could get something out of it, why would I correct you?"  
  
Armus lowered his sword. The tip scraped loudly against the floor. He could think of nothing to say.  
  
Sir Thomas took the lead. "Get him out of here."  
  
Richard and Cedric approached Purdy. He backed away, his hands up defensively. As they reached for him, the front door once again swung open.  
  
"What now!?!" asked Sir Thomas.  
  
"We've come to take Purdy back to Berkeley Castle, Thomas," said the Sheriff, as he entered, an impressive group of ten very large guards in tow. He presented him with an order signed by the King. "This is over as of now."  
  
Purdy reached out a hand to the Friar. "Don't let them take me, Friar," he whispered.  
  
The Friar turned away. He had deceived by Purdy as well. He was sworn to love all his brethren, but this man he could not bear to even look upon.  
  
Purdy glanced around the room furtively. "I won't let you take me!" he cried, and pulled a kitchen knife from his boot. He ran up behind the Friar, wrapped his arm around his neck and held the knife to his temple. "I will slice him through. I will."  
  
Richard and Cedric looked at each other as if to say 'Not again.'  
  
"You have no place to go," said the Sheriff. "Put the blade down."  
  
"No! I want out of here, and I will stick this thick pious pig if I have to, to prove I am serious."  
  
"Oh and he will," said Melchet, his handkerchief at his chin. A scarlet stain had appeared on it.  
  
Eleanor stepped forward. Pushing Richard and Cedric out of the way, she spoke calmly, and gazed into Purdy's eyes as she inched closer. "Please Purdy, don't do this. All we have done is tried to help you. Put down the knife."  
  
Purdy laughed, his gaze never wavering from hers. "If you think you can charm me, Lady Eleanor Grey you are wrong. I could never be charmed by a girl who looks like a boy."  
  
Eleanor's jaw dropped. She fumbled for words, and found none. This caused another peal of laughter from Purdy. Infuriated, Eleanor balled her right hand into a fist, and smashed it soundly into his nose.  
  
Cedric and Richard rushed at Purdy, knocking him to the ground. While the others watched, the three men rolled across the floor, knocking over two chairs, and a candelabrum in the process. They continued to roll over, one big mass of arms and legs, till they reached the nearest wall. Richard found himself partially underneath the pile, while Cedric was on the top.  
  
Cedric threw his fist outward, and it made contact with Richard's eye. He tried again. This time Richard dodged, and Cedric hit his mark. With Purdy momentarily stunned, he was able to wrestle the knife free. He held it in the air. "I got it!" he announced.  
  
Purdy stopped fighting. Richard pushed him off, and got to his knees. He took the knife from Cedric, and tossed it across the room.  
  
Cedric sat himself on Purdy's chest. He pushed a lock of hair from his eyes, and glanced up at the Sheriff's men still standing inert by the door. He scowled in their direction. "Are you going to laze there all night or lend a hand?"  
  
As he was led away, flanked on all sides by the Sheriff's men, Purdy took his free hand, placed it to his lips, and gestured, palm out towards Eleanor.  
  
Mullins, who had up to this point watched silently, chimed in cheerily. "Crafty little devil isn't he?" He straightened his gloves. "Luckily you found out the truth before you had him married off to your daughter."  
  
"Get out of my castle!"  
  
"It is good to see that through all this conflict that you haven't lost your manners Thomas."  
  
"Shall I have the guards see you out?"  
  
"No, I'm leaving. But not before I say one last word. Be aware, Sir Thomas that this is not the end. I shall have proper reparation for the trouble your sons have caused me." Mullins paused and turned to face the fireplace, where Baron Melchet still sat, covered in soot. "Come Melchet, it is time to go."  
  
It felt like spring. The air was dry and crisp. Perhaps it was Spring. Armus had lost track of the days. One seemed to run into the next without beginning or end since.  
  
A flock of birds flew by. Yes it was Spring. And he was glad. A change of season would do them all good. The Friar had said that just days before, but Armus was not able to appreciate the meaning then. He had repeated it today and suggested that Armus take a long walk.  
  
They had been having another one of their long discussions, which had become frequent in recent days. Armus never could have guessed that a man who had spent most of his life in solitude could be so wise to the ways of the world. They had been speaking of trust, and truths, and human nature. When do you hang on to your beliefs? When do you give them up? How do you know if you are doing the right thing when the decision is made?  
  
Armus had found his mind wandering, and he'd been staring out the window without even realizing it. There was something at the back of his mind, some yearning that he couldn't quite put his finger on. But the Friar knew. He knew just what Armus needed. And the Friar had been right as always. The walk was doing him good. He was not quite ready yet to venture past the moors, and out into the shire, but he would be soon. He knew that now.  
  
He'd been out to the moors, around the castle, through the tilting yard, (where he'd stopped for a time to watch Eleanor and Cedric taunting each other via a game of darts), and back to the courtyard again.  
  
He stood there now, hands held just above his eyes, to shade them from the sun. He saw Richard sitting on the parapet, legs dangling over the side. Alone. Richard had been spending most of his time alone. They had not spoken other than pleasantries since..  
  
Armus wondered if things would ever be right between them again.  
  
"I thought I'd find you here," said Sir Thomas, coming up from behind. He joined his son, taking a place on the stone parapet. "Did you know this was your mother's favorite place to sit and think?"  
  
"No I didn't."  
  
"Yes, she would disappear all the time, I never knew where she went. One day I was down in the courtyard, and I heard a scream. I looked up, and there was your mother, batting at a gull that had begun to fly around her head." Thomas motioned with his arms comically to illustrate. "She almost fell off, too. It's humorous now. At the time I believe my heart stopped."  
  
Richard smiled, and laughed for what seemed like the first time in weeks. "I can almost see it. How old was I then?"  
  
"Oh you weren't even born yet. None of my children were. This was when we first married, and I became Lord of Covington Cross. It wasn't easy then. Soon after I found out that she was to bear my first child, which of course was Armus. I was very proud; you couldn't get me to stop talking about him. And then came William, and then you. And I talked about both of you just as much. And I love you both just as much. So did your mother. And the same goes for Eleanor and Cedric. And it shall always be so, no matter what happens. I will always love and be very proud of all of you."  
  
EPILOGUE:  
  
He sat comfortably, with his feet propped on the mantle, hands behind his head, with fingers intertwined. All was again right with the world. He spun a tale of wild adventure for his listeners, who sat around the fire rapt. Armus smiled. The rain spattered against the windows. Weren't they not in this very same place not too long ago? The only difference was one empty space, which before would have held his brother Richard. Armus sighed, and continued on with the story.  
  
"So, once again, the brave knight.without a name or a home, as far as anyone knew." he coughed. "Rode off to meet his destiny. After several days ride he encountered a friendly village."  
  
"The way I heard it, they were a band of gypsies," said Richard from the doorway.  
  
"Is that so?" asked Armus with a hesitant smile. "Well then why don't you come join us and tell the story the way you heard it."  
  
"Well," Richard replied, hesitating a moment, "If I must.to be sure that it gets told correctly." Richard grabbed a coverlet, and sat down between Cedric and Eleanor on the bearskin hearthrug. Eleanor linked her arm in his, and put her head on his shoulder.  
  
"As I was saying, they weren't run of the mill villagers. They were gypsies. And dishonest to boot." He paused for effect.  
  
"Go on, go on," said Armus expectantly. "I do love a good story!"  
  
THE END 


End file.
